Harry Potter and the Keys of Light
by LionsFan
Summary: When the Dursleys are killed in a car accident, Harry goes into the care of Albus Dumbledore. His sixth year at Hogwarts School proves to be another exciting adventure. AU as of HBP! Ships: HPLL, HGRW, NLGW, RLOC
1. Wristwatch

Chapter One: "Wristwatch" 

            Hedwig hooted softly in her cage. Harry, however, lay wide awake on his bed, turning the pages of a leather-bound photo album. It had been given to him five years earlier, as a gift from Hagrid. He had faced so much that first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he'd ended it facing his parents' smiling, waving pictures. But now, he had another to look for in the album—Sirius.

            Harry fingered his parents' wedding photo gently—there they were, the people that had been his family, now gone. They grinned up at him, Sirius gesturing rudely behind James' head, a wicked smile dominating his expression; he didn't have the haunted look in his eyes in that picture—he had only friends and happiness, with no thought to the terrible future that awaited him, that awaited them all.

            Harry replaced the picture and closed the album. He felt loss overwhelm him, tears threatening his eyes. He still hadn't talked to anyone about it—did want to talk to anyone about it. Lupin and Dumbledore kept reminding him that he could tell them anything, but this was his; how could anyone else understand what he was going through? And yet, if anything, he had learned to not be so selfish—the fight with Voldemort was his, but he had to start thinking about how his actions affected everyone else around him. _A saving people thing_,****Hermione had called it; he ran blindly into danger without thinking. And this time, this time, it had cost him his godfather. Who would be next, he found himself wondering, Hermione? Ron?

            A tapping sound at the window pulled him from his thoughts; it was a large brown barn owl that he didn't recognize—a hired post owl. Harry had to place three Knuts in the pouch tied to the owl's leg, which it held out expectantly, before it allowed him to take the letter. It was from Ron, his unruly scrawl greeting Harry's eyes. It had been several weeks since anyone had written, and Harry ached for news from the wizarding world.

Harry- 

Sorry mate, it's been a nightmare around here. Dad's been non-stop at work-they're talking of getting rid of Fudge! Of course, if they do, I hope Dad gets the job. We need good people at the Ministry and Dumbledore's behind Dad, so it'll probably happen.

_Anyway, not much new. More people found dead with the Dark Mark above their houses-Dad says You-Know-Who is getting rid of the ones he doesn't trust anymore. Maybe we'll get lucky, and he'll rid us of the lot of them. Then we'd only have one maniac to worry about._

_I'm trying to get mum to let you come to the Burrow, but she doesn't think it's safe. Don't worry, though. Fred and George are coming from London Saturday, and they'll talk her into it._

_Write soon,_

Ron 

P.S. I'm so glad I don't have to worry about my letters getting intercepted. It was a real pain not being able to talk to anyone properly.

            That was true; Harry received all his news of the Order from Lupin or Tonks, who'd come at least once every two weeks. They hadn't been by lately, though—apparently something important was demanding their attention. Harry was irritated, but he wouldn't let it bother him; they were at war now, even, and especially, if it wasn't on a neat battlefield, and decisions were made quickly. No one had time to sit down and write Harry a wordy letter of explanation. This, he had painfully admitted to himself at a letter from Hermione a week after term ended. 

…It is all about you Harry, we know it is; but the fact is, that others are involved, are important, and you can't expect people to be thinking only of you. I'm not mad at you, but you really seem to think only of yourself at times. Think about the Weasleys, endangering their entire family, or the professors, in the care of all the students at Hogwarts as well as you. It's not that no one wants you to know anything, but sometimes it isn't necessary…

Of course, he had been infuriated by it, and had drafted several angry letters in response, detailing exactly why he needed to know about everything that was going on, but, as each was crumpled, he had to admit that Hermione was right; he had only managed to sound whiny and pathetic—there were others to consider, and it didn't help anyone if he was just going to complain. He had gone for eleven years without anyone to talk to or vent his emotions to or to pay him the slightest attention, and he could do it again. Besides, they all insisted that, as he was safe at the Dursleys', there wasn't a need to involve him in all the dangers—more like they were afraid he'd leave Privet Drive and try to do something about it, he thought bitterly, but he left the last comment out of his letter to Hermione.

            Across the hall, Uncle Vernon's alarm sounded, and the gradually pinkish light that had been threatening to pass through his curtain for the last hour finally entered, filling the room with light. Harry replaced the photo album under the loose floorboard beneath his bed and got dressed. He moved slowly—it wasn't as if the Dursleys wanted him up anyway; today, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were taking Dudley to London to shop for his birthday presents. It was also a celebratory trip—Dudley had returned home for the holidays for the first time without a note from the school nutritionist. He was still immense, but fat had been replaced with muscle from boxing training. Harry, of course, would be left behind. While the Dursleys had been much more civil since last summer, Uncle Vernon maintained Harry's isolation by declaring it "unsafe for him to be walking about like a moving target for those hooded delinquents that were mucking about. And what if they followed him home!"

            He didn't mind—spending an afternoon with Dudley wasn't exactly Harry's idea of an action-packed time anyway. Dudley had been trying all summer to pick a fight with him (Harry was now a good deal taller than his cousin, and, apparently, Dudley felt the need to show him up.) His sharply tuned Seeker skills made Harry fast enough that he would, if necessary, be able to dodge his cousin's blows, and, perhaps, get in a few punches—he had, after all, been toughened by Dudley's former abuse, and been made strong by frequent life-and-death struggles. 

            Aunt Petunia could be heard in the kitchen making breakfast, and from the next room came a loud thud, followed by Dudley' swearing as he fell out of bed. Smiling, Harry left his room. Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible day after all.

            By way of greeting, his aunt nodded toward him, and Uncle Vernon continued to read the business section as though Harry hadn't entered the kitchen at all. As he sat down, Dudley appeared, still dressed in his pajamas.

            "Good morning, Precious!" Aunt Petunia crooned, putting the eggs on the table and embracing her son.

            "Geroff, Mum," Dudley said. He sat down next to Harry, having freed himself of his mother, and soon half the eggs in the pan were on his plate. "Dad, we're picking up Piers on the way to the station," he announced, bits of egg falling from his overfilled mouth.

            "What?" Uncle Vernon peered over the top of his paper, and, eyeing Dudley, replied, "Oh, right." He added, as an afterthought, "We'll be leaving after breakfast, so make sure you hurry and dress, son."

            "Duddlekins can take all the time he wants," Petunia said, sitting down. "Eating one's food too quickly can stunt growth." Harry coughed into his orange juice; shoveling food had never affected Dudley's growth, he thought. Uncle Vernon eyed him sharply.

            "And I expect you will have something productive to be doing while we're gone? If not, I noticed a loose board in the fence—"

            "No, I've got homework," Harry said quickly.

            "Homework? Doing what, I suppose—turning mice into snuffboxes?" Uncle Vernon laughed at his joke, Dudley chuckled, and Harry exercised a great amount of control by not informing his Uncle that he had learnt that in his first year; magic was still entirely forbidden, unless mentioned by his uncle or cousin to be used as a means of ridicule or the constant reminder that he was an underage wizard. Last year, he might've replied cheekily, but he was stuck with the Dursleys, so he had resigned himself to making the experience as pleasant as possible.

            Soon enough, Dudley was done eating, and the Dursleys were preparing to leave. Uncle Vernon was already in the car, and Aunt Petunia, waiting for Dudley to get his jacket, was checking her tidy blonde hair in the sitting-room mirror. Harry sat upon the stairs. Something compelled him to watch his aunt, to study her searchingly; she had a thin, graceful nose, high cheekbones, thin heart shaped mouth, pretty when not curved in a scornful frown…she looked like his mother, Harry realized. He blinked, and looked again, to see a blonde version of Lily Potter checking herself in the mirror, as she might have done before a family outing, waiting for James to hurry up—it felt strange, seeing Petunia this way, unfamiliar and kind…and he felt an urge to treasure the image, the way Aunt Petunia could be if she hadn't found him so distasteful. Harry was left feeling cold, a gentle prickling at his scar brought on by the torrent of icy sadness that had washed over him; he wanted to hold onto that moment of familial connection, to pretend for a moment that the past sixteen, almost seventeen, years of his life had been spent pleasantly with an aunt and uncle and cousin that loved him.

            Thundering footfall interrupted Harry's thought, and Dudley rushed past him, declaring himself ready as he flew out the door. Aunt Petunia took a last look at the mirror, and turned to follow her son. 

            "Aunt Petunia," Harry said, unsure of what he was going to say to her. She stopped and looked back at him questioningly.

            "What?"

            "Don't…don't go out…not today."

            "And why not?" she snapped.

            "Just…please, just stay home." Harry tried to find more words but could not, he didn't know what was possessing him to ask this, but whatever it was, was incessant about it—his Aunt had to stay home. Outside, Uncle Vernon called from the driveway, and Aunt Petunia made to leave again. A sense of urgency overcame Harry, beyond the whims of imagining Aunt Petunia as a different Aunt Petunia; rising from the stair, he reached out and caught hold of one of Aunt Petunia's thin, gloved hands, and held on as he would a snitch. "Please," he said, as though the word would force his Aunt into submission. She looked at him, startled, and then, with something else…She opened her mouth to speak, but could only look at him in that strange way, as though looking deep in Harry, searching for something. The car horn flared, and she moved out the door, pulling her hand from Harry's. He stood in the entryway, watching as the car pulled out of the driveway of Number Four and turned onto Privet Drive. As the car stopped at the corner, Harry distinctly saw his aunt look back at him. 

            Then, several things happened; out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a hooded figure appear on Privet Drive; terror reeled through his body as he realized that the figure was wearing a mask, its outstretched left arm holding a wand, advancing on the Dursleys' car; a terrific pain shot through his scar, and Harry fell backward to the floor as thousands of piercing blades sheathed themselves in his skin; a tremendous blast went off, shaking the walls of the house, sending pictures of Dudley from their mounts to the floor, deafening the sounds of the glass as it broke. It seemed an eternity that he lay there, feeling his skull splitting in two, cold from fear, sweating in agony, while the very earth seemed to quake around him. 

And, suddenly as it had begun, the world became quiet and still. 

Harry shot up from the floor, still dizzy from the pain, clutching his scar and moving out the door. He ran down the street, unaware of the doors of curious neighbors opening as their owners entered the street. Dizziness caused him to run with his eyes closed, and he stumbled more than once before and ashy smell forced him to open them. He was a yard or two from the corner of Privet Drive, the corner at which Aunt Petunia had turned back to look at him. The car was still there, smoldering as though it had been burning for hours. Broken bits of glass and plastic encircled the wreckage. Harry looked wildly about, and found an arm, just visible on the hood of the car. The gold watch Petunia had given his Uncle last Christmas was now cracked and blackened on the face. 

Slowly, Harry walked towards the car, trembling. As he moved to the front of the car, a grisly sight met his eyes; Uncle Vernon had been thrown through the windshield, his face contorted in an expression of mingled terror and anger, lifeless eyes staring blankly across the hood he was sprawled on. Harry turned away. Bile was rising in his throat, burning it. He swallowed painfully, looking anywhere but his uncle. He could see his cousin's head pressed against the back seat, motionless, no longer pale but blackened with ash. Then, he saw blonde hair, darkened and matted with blood, lying a foot from the car. She coughed roughly; at this sign of life, Harry ran desperately to his aunt's side.

"Harry?" she said, the first time he had ever heard her refer to him by his proper name.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia, it's me. Don't worry, I'll get help, I'll—"

"No, Harry, listen to me—there is a trunk, in the attic. Make sure you get it."

"What?" 

"Promise me," she coughed. A narrow stream of burgundy found its way from the corner of Petunia's lips down her chin. "The only thing I ever promised her…get it." Harry nodded, casting his eyes about for something that could help. Aunt Petunia coughed again, her body shaking, and then, she was still.

"Aunt Petunia? Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered. The world went quiet then, soundless, draining into grayness; Harry found himself looking into the eyes of another woman, with curly hair, frightened. She spoke, but the words made no sense to him, and then, a blinding light. A cold, cruel, high-pitched laughter broke through the silence, and the sounds of the world turned back on. 

A crowd had gathered around the car, neighbors whispering to each other, clutching children so as to keep them from looking. Harry felt his sorrow, heavy, pressing against his stomach, forcing its contents up his throat, and then he felt angry—a pure, blind rage, causing his fists to clench and tremble.

"What're you staring at!" He demanded. "Someone call for help! You damned idiots, they're dying! My family is dying! Someone help!" The stared at him, frightened, still, watching the as the dark haired boy, his eyes glittering with the tears that had found home there. "Someone help," he said, pathetically, turning back to his aunt's body. The tears began to fall, and the crowd huddled together as a loud crash sounded around them; there were four fire hydrants on Privet Drive, and they were all currently going off, the tops having been blown off by an unknown force. Above all the noise, the distant sound of a siren echoed up Privet Drive. The crowd began to part as a short graying woman fought to the front, cursing the onlookers.

"Clear the street, you lot!" Mrs. Figg ordered. "The professionals are coming, and if you don't move out of their way, these people are going to die." She hadn't screamed, she hadn't needed to; the crowd sprang to life, and moved to the lawns and sidewalks as the white and red ambulance wailed up the road. Mrs. Figg rushed over to Harry, catching hold of his shoulders.

            "There's nothing more you can do, lad," she said gently, pulling the youth to his feet. Harry nodded mutely, allowing him self to be led back through the crowd, past the uniformed men rushing toward the car.  The walked past the crowd to the alleyway that led to Magnolia Crescent; Harry closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the night, almost a year ago, in that very alley, where Dementors had appeared and attacked him and Dudley. He had been angry with his cousin then, but an emotion had filled him that he only now understood—he had been scared, scared that Dudley was going to get hurt. He hadn't known that, after so many years of misery he could still feel for his family; he clenched his eyes shut, blocking the alley and its memories. 

            Soon, Harry smelled the familiar cat odor of Mrs. Figg's house, and opened his eyes slowly. The house had not changed in all the years that Harry had known Mrs. Figg, the paisley wallpaper lifting at the corners of the room, floral print sofas that sagged in the center and caused injury if sat upon at the wrong time of day, and, of course, cats—and lots of them. Mrs. Figg motioned for Harry to sit on the sofa and then disappeared around the half-wall that separated the sitting room from the kitchen. 

Harry sank into the cushions, closing his eyes again. His head hurt, from the twinge still in his scar to the pressure from his running nose, from the maelstrom of emotion blurring his thoughts. Numbness began to take over, shock replacing adrenaline, and it was a moment before Harry recognized his name being spoken. Mr. Weasley was standing beside Mrs. Figg in the living room, looking concerned and nervous, covered in ash—evidence that he must have traveled by Floo powder. 

"Come along now, Harry, we need to hurry," he said.

"Where are we going?" Harry replied after a moment, taking in the words slowly.

"To the Burrow, for now, and then…well, just hurry on. I will explain everything when we are safely at home." Harry wondered what Mr. Weasley meant by "safely," but did not question it—he was doing well to have control of his legs to make himself stand, and had no desire to test his fogged mind. He nodded and followed Mr. Weasley to the fireplace. He stepped through the flames, a warm breath falling over his cold body—he hadn't noticed until then that he was cold—and, though he didn't recall saying the words, the familiar spinning began, and Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Figg disappeared. He closed his eyes, to avoid the dizzying blur of open fireplaces that swirled past him, and he traveled in silence, letting the situation sink in; his aunt and uncle were dead, and, for some reason, Mr. Weasley had come to retrieve him, and he had seen…he was sure he had seen…

Suddenly, he stopped, and opened his eyes in time to feel a jolt as he was thrown forward onto the Weasley's kitchen floor.

"Harry?" A hand appeared before him. He accepted it, rising from the floor. "Sorry mate," Ron said, "We were expecting George, or else—"

"We wouldn't have put the jinx in. You didn't hurt yourself?" Ginny was sitting at the worn oak table, attempting to cover her laugh with a serious expression, though failing as the corners of her mouth remained curled upward.

"No, Gin, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look awful."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Just an observation." They sat across from Ginny.

"You really don't look well," Ginny said, looking Harry over closely. "Are you sure you're okay?"

A small pop, preventing Harry from replying, was heard as Mr. Weasley apparated. 

"Hi Dad," Ron said. "Harry's just—"

"I know. May I talk to him a moment…in private?" 

"What? Why?" Ron asked, looking curiously at Harry.

"Please, it'll only be a moment." Ron shrugged and went to the stairs. He paused a moment, as he waited for Ginny to rise from the table. With a last glance, she joined him and they left the kitchen. Mr. Weasley turned from the stairs to Harry, fixing him with a serious look.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Harry," he said. "This afternoon…your Aunt and Uncle…well, it—that is, we have reason to believe that, it wasn't and accident."

"I know." Harry looked at the table. It made sense to him now, the feeling that had made him ask his Aunt to not leave the house, the pain from his scar, and the hooded figure… "Voldemort was behind this," he said quietly. Had he been looking at Mr. Weasley, Harry would have seen the slight flinch brought by the mention of the name.

"Well, Mundungus Fletcher was on watch, and he said it was a Death Eater, but we can't be sure. I mean, it is Mundungus, after all…and besides, we don't know that, even if it was a Death Eater, that the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ordered it; it could have been any of them."

"What does it matter?" Harry spat; as Mr. Weasley had been speaking, the nauseating feeling inside of Harry had built with a pressure that had become anger. "They're dead. My entire family is dead!" 

"Look, Harry, I know you're upset—"

"Upset? I'm not upset." He was tightly clenching his fists, the knuckles white. The Dursleys were all he had left of his parents, and they, too, had been taken from him. Mr. Weasley watched the dark haired boy with sympathy. He's so young, he thought. He made to rest a hand on Harry's shoulder, but with drew it quickly, staring about him in amazement; Mrs. Weasley's neatly stacked plates were lifting from their place at the kitchen sink and hurtling themselves at the walls, where the shattered and crumpled to heaps on the floor.

Hurrying, Mr. Weasley drew his wand and cried, "Reparo!" at the broken pieces.

"Harry, help me," he said, attempting to catch one of the plates in the air as it flew toward the fireplace mantle. "Harry, a little help, son…Harry?" He turned; Harry still sitting, body tense, eyes focused determinedly at the table, dark with emotion, unaware of the chaos around him. Realization dawning on him, Mr. Weasley walked to the table and sharply slapped Harry across the face. Clutching his cheek, Harry looked at Mr. Weasley in surprised alarm. The plates froze in the air-born paths, and dropped to the floor. 

"Mr. Weasley, what—"

"It was for your own good," he said, returning to a pile of plates.

"I don't understand." Harry rose from the table, and took in the sight around him, the pieces of broken plate laying over every inch of the kitchen floor. "What happened here?"

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said, looking up from under the table, " did you know that you had empathic powers?"

"What powers?"

"Empaths, Harry, are wizards that can do magic without the use of wands, as they are connected with the wizard's emotions. If a wizard hasn't been trained to control his power, it reacts only to his emotion, like it did just now. I'm sorry I had to slap you, but you were destroying my plates." Guilty and a little confused, Harry took a pile of reassembled plates from Mr. Weasley to the counter. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Weasley. I'm just…" But Harry couldn't find the words to describe the exhaustion he felt. 

"It's all right, Harry. You didn't know, after all." Mr. Weasley brought the rest of the dishes to the counter, and they sat at the table. After a moment, Mr. Weasley said, " Now, Harry, there is the matter of where you are going live. You see, technically, Grimmauld Place is yours…" and he went on the explain that because Sirius couldn't officially be proven dead with revealing how he died, and, in turn, his involvement with the Order, but, Harry wasn't listening. Grimmauld Place—he remembered it as it was last Christmas, clean from the summer's work, and decorated; Sirius had been so happy to be surrounded by everyone, and Harry recalled thinking that, one day, he would have a real home there. But, his godfather was dead, as his aunt and uncle and cousin were dead, and his parents—he would never have a real home, with a family. If I survive this, he resolved, I'm going to have a proper home and Hermione, Hagrid and all of the Weasleys can live with me…The Weasleys! he realized.

"I'm not living here, am I?" he asked. Mr. Weasley, who had been lost in wizard law, looked at him as though surprised he were still there. Before he could reply, however, a voice behind Harry said,

"No, Harry. The Weasleys have enough on their hands as it is." Harry turned to meet the familiar white beard and crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore.

"Our home is always open, though, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, whom, Harry noticed, was standing behind the headmaster. Mr. Weasley nodded in fervent agreement.

"But, for the moment, Harry, if you could say farewell to your friends upstairs. I believe they are anxious to talk with you, and I must discuss something with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." Harry looked at Mrs. Weasley, smiling at him with motherly concern, and rose from the table.

Upstairs, Ron and Ginny immediately accosted him, both demanding to know what Mr. Weasley had said.

"And," Ginny said, "how did you get here? I thought you had to stay with the Muggles." She was sitting atop Ron's orange bedspread, flipping through a copy of Witch Weekly; Ron had been playing chess against the board; winning, too, judging from the pile of broken ebony pieces.

"My Aunt and Uncle," Harry began, though unable to finish; he couldn't find the strength to say what had happened—as if actually speaking it aloud made it a fact, a truth he couldn't ignore.

"Yes?'

"My Aunt and Uncle, and Dudley, they…they died, this morning." He looked to them, uncertain of their reactions.

"Well, at least you didn't…you know," Ron stumbled, "at least you didn't like them…you know."

"Ron!" Ginny exclaimed, casting her brother a furious glare. "You can be so insensitive!"

"It's okay, Ginny. He's right. It's just…I dunno…"

"Oh, Harry," Ginny sighed, moving off the bed and putting her arms around him. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks." She pulled away, and turned to Ron expectantly.

"Sorry mate. Even if they weren't very nice—" Ginny rolled her eyes "—I am sorry."

"Thanks, Ron." Silence fell on them uncomfortably. After a moment, Ron said,

"So, I suppose you get to live with us now." Harry sighed and sat on the bed.

"I don't know."

"What?"

"Dumbledore said—"

"Dumbledore's here?"

"Ron stop interrupting," Ginny snapped. Ron's ears turned pink at the ends, and he returned to the chessboard.

"Dumbledore said I wasn't going to stay here, but he didn't say where I was going to live. I didn't bother to ask." He sighed again and let his eyelids droop; all the thoughts and emotions were jumbling in his mind, pounding in within his skull—it was so much, too much, to take in at once. "I'm just really tired."  He fell back against the bed. Ron looked at Ginny a moment, then back to the game, expression somber. Ginny looked at Harry and Ron, then back at Harry, unsure what to say, or if she should say anything at all. They fell again into silence, sadly peaceful.

Five minutes passed before a knock interrupted them. Mrs. Weasley entered the room, and, eyeing the scene, motioned curiously toward Harry.

"He's not asleep," Ginny said. "Are you Harry?" Harry stirred at the sound of his name; seeing Mrs. Weasley, he sat up.

"It's time to go, Harry, dear," she said, holding the door open. Harry rose to follow her, pausing at the doorway. He turned, and said,

"I'll…um…I'll owl, okay?"

"See you mate," Ron said.

"Bye Harry." Ginny smiled encouragingly at him, and Harry and Mrs. Weasley began walking descending the stairs.


	2. Trunk in the Attic

Chapter Two: "Trunk in the Attic"

Harry followed Dumbledore to a portrait at the end of the hall; to Harry's surprise, he recognized the wizard as one from Dumbledore's own office—Gwendolyn Cygnatius, the witch that proposed the registration system for Animagi, famously known for her years outside the wizarding world, attempting to create peaceful magic and non-magic relations. And, if Harry remembered all that Hermione had shared with him and Ron after her research on Rita Skeeter at the end of their fourth year, she was the one that inspired the story of Swan Lake.

"Good afternoon Albus," she said warmly.

"Good afternoon madam. Butterbeer." She nodded and the portrait swung forward, revealing another set of stairs, narrower than the ones that led to the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry followed in amazement—he had never known the Leaky Cauldron had a third floor, let alone that it was inhabited by the headmaster; he had always imagined Dumbledore at the school or far in the country, in a heavily guarded manor.

At the top of the stairs were a landing and a large wooden door. The door had no handle, or visible way to open it. Harry looked curiously at Dumbledore, who was intently focused on the door. Harry followed his gaze, almost jumping back in surprise; the door was gone, revealing a large room—behind him, the landing and stairs had been replaced with the entrance to a hall.

It was a living room, filled with an odd combination of furniture; the wall to Harry's left was comprised of a grand bookcase, lined with volumes and strange objects, like those in the Headmaster's office; the opposite wall was made entirely of windows, looking down on Diagon Alley. Facing Harry was a large fireplace, and another archway in the left corner, leading to a dining room. Portraits and framed objects adorned the walls, including the silver Gryffindor sword Harry had pulled from the sorting hat in his second year. Contained in the room were several chairs, a sofa, tables and a large desk, in the corner next to the windows; next to the desk was a large stand, presumably for Fawkes.

Dumbledore walked to it, and sat down. After a moment, he said, "If you follow that hall behind you, Harry, you will find a door next to very end of it. Once you've made it satisfactory, if you could please return here. There is still business we must attend to this afternoon of which there is some haste needed in attending it." He then began shifting through the papers on his desk, and Harry, understanding that he was done speaking, turned around and walked down the hall.

The room was exactly the last in the hall, and surprisingly large. A four-poster stood next to a window, the view exactly the same as the one in the living room—Harry could see directly into the display window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. There was also a writing desk, as well as a closet. A door across from the bed led to an equally large bathroom. The odd thing about it was that everything, from the bed to the walls, was bare; there were no sheets or pictures or decoration of any kind.

"What an odd room," Harry said.

"It isn't that odd," said a voice behind him, "you just haven't furnished it yet." Turning about, Harry realized there was a single painting in the room, taking up much of the wall; it showed an attractive brunette, dressed in old looking sapphire blue robes, sitting in a stone-walled room, a large raven on a stand behind her.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, having looked Harry over. "You're Harry Potter!"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, irritated. "It's not a big deal, you know."

"Of course it is." Her tone reminded Harry sharply of Hermione when she was correcting something someone had said—condescending and authoritative. "And, if you are going to stay in here, I may as well introduce myself. You may have heard of me, if they are doing things properly at Hogwarts—my name is Rowena Ravenclaw."

"One of the Founders?"

"Ah, so they are teaching you history. Excellent." She beamed down at him, and Harry hesitated before saying,

"So, um…how do I _furnish_ the room, exactly?"

"Why, simply say what you want in it."

"Oh." Harry turned back to the bed. "Well…sheets, for starters." When nothing happened, he turned back to the picture of Ravenclaw.

"Well, what color?" she asked, as though this were the obvious thing to have thought of.

"White, with red blankets, like the dormitory beds." In a moment, the bed was done, made up exactly as his four-poster in Gryffindor Tower. Feeling more confident, Harry turned to the wall to his right, and said,

"Pennants—Gryffindor Lions, and Quidditch. And shelves for my books and broom." Instantly, scarlet and gold covered the wall, surrounding a line of shelves, the topmost of which had four pegs for his Firebolt to rest on. Five minutes later, the room was finished, and Harry sat on the bed, resting his eyes.

"You have good taste," the portrait was saying, " a little masculine, I suppose, but overall very smart. Oh! Don't fall asleep, Dumbledore is waiting for you." With reluctance, Harry stood up and left the room, feeling tired from the day. He didn't want to attend to anything with Dumbledore; why couldn't he just sleep, and deal with everything tomorrow? He also felt guilt nagging at him, for not feeling worse about the Dursleys. _At least you didn't like them_, Ron's voice sounded in his mind.

Dumbledore was still at his desk, but looked up as Harry entered the room.

"Are we ready then?" Harry nodded. " Excellent. If you will please start the fire, Harry." As he did so, the Headmaster continued, " There are only three ways here, Harry. First, through the portrait, which shall be the way for you to use. Only you and myself know the password, and I would appreciate it if you would not tell anyone else."

"Of course not, Professor."

"Good. Now, the second way here is to Apparate. However, much like when visiting Grimmauld Place, one can only enter if they know it is here. Otherwise, I am afraid, they will end up in the center changing room of Madame Malkins'. The third way, which really is only a way out, is through the fireplace. You cannot Floo here, so I would not advise attempting it."

"Yes, Professor." Dumbledore crossed the room and took a small jar from the bookshelves. He handed it to Harry, who asked,

"Where are we going, sir?"

"Well, we are going to Privet Drive. However, we must travel to Mrs. Figg's home, and from there walk." Harry stepped into the grate, and threw down the handful of powder.

"Magnolia Crescent," he called, and for the third time that day, was being pulled past the endless stream of fireplaces, catching glimpses of the rooms beyond. Finally, he stopped at the familiar kitchen with paisley wallpaper. Mrs. Figg was sitting at the table, apparently expecting them.

"Harry, dear, are you all right? Where's Albus?"

"He's coming. What's going on here?"

"Oh, it's been ghastly. The police shewed up a few minutes after you left, and began asking questions. Then, everyone was looking for you, but couldn't find you. And then, to make it worse, Aurors begin appearing all over the lawn of Number Four, and an entire squad from the ministry arrived and began altering the memories of everyone and their dog—"

"Which Aurors are still here, Arabella?" Dumbledore asked, stepping out of the grate.

"Well, Tonks and Shacklebolt, they both slipped away to ask me what happened, and where Harry was. Most of them left an hour ago except for those two—I suspect they were waiting to see if you returned. I think Alastor is on his way as well."

"Excellent. Come with us, Arabella, to wait for Alastor while Harry collects his things."

Harry found it strange walking back onto Privet Drive; it was just as it always was, quiet and tidy, without any sign of the morning's events—the wreckage had been cleared, only blackened patches of the road left. Privet Drive had yellow tape around it, cautioning others to stay away, which he, Dumbledore and Mrs. Figg stepped under, and the door was still open. Harry approached slowly; he saw himself standing there, looking at the driveway as he had that morning. The image was replaced as a woman with long bottle green hair stepped into the doorway.

"Wotcher Harry!" Tonks said, smiling. Harry found he had to restrain himself from running to her. _Perhaps this affected me more than I thought_, he said silently to himself.

"Has Alastor arrived yet?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, we're still waiting. He wanted to come first off, but…well, the last thing we needed was it appear in the Prophet that a certain ex-Auror was investigating this—there'll be enough rumoring to deal with as it is."

"Quite right," Mrs. Figg said. They stepped inside Number Four. Nothing had been changed from that morning, Harry noted, as he stepped over the broken glass from one of Dudley's fallen pictures.

"I'll just…um, go upstairs then," Harry said quietly. He slipped out of the hall and up to his room without drawing attention from any of them. He took all his clothes from the wardrobe—a total of eight shirts and three pairs of jeans—a piled them onto his bed. Then, he removed all the cards and things he had smuggled from his trunk downstairs from the loose floorboard, including the album and his Potions homework. He was emptying his writing desk as Dumbledore appeared in the doorframe, casting a curious look about the room.

"Almost done," Harry said, grabbing Hedwig's cage.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "has your room always been like this?"

"What? Oh, no—this year I've been able to sneak a lot more up here, like my Lions banners." Having been reminded of these, Harry stood on his metal-frame bed and un-tacked them from the wall.

"And those, those are all of your clothes?" He gestured toward the pile on the bed.

"Yeah—so?"

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." Harry looked at the Headmaster.

"For what?"

"I did not know, when I sent you to live here—"

"It's no big deal," Harry said, catching on. "Really—this is much better than the cupboard ever was." He felt increasingly self-conscious under Dumbledore's gaze, as he always did, and he flushed in embarrassment. "I need to get my trunk from downstairs." He gathered the pile from the bed and brushed past the Headmaster. Once downstairs, however, Harry had to turn to Tonks to open the cupboard under the stairs.

"It's locked, you see."

"Sure, Harry," She said cheerfully. "_Alohomora_." He placed his clothes into the trunk, and then joined Mrs. Figg, Tonks, and Professor Dumbledore in the sitting room. The man Harry recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt was resting on the loveseat with Alastor Moody.

"Harry," Moody said, his blue glass eye swiveling toward Harry as he entered the room, "How are you? I see they haven't been feeding you…good thing for that oaf of an uncle of yours he met a Death Eater before me."

"Alastor!" Mrs. Figg cried in alarm, casting a nervous glance at Harry. "Please be respectful!"

"The sooner you face a fact, the sooner you can overcome it," he growled.

"This is, perhaps, not the most appropriate time for this," Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry, are you ready?"

"Yes…no, wait," Harry paused a moment; there was something he was supposed to do…_No, Harry, listen to me—there is a trunk, in the attic. Make sure you get it._ "There is one more thing I need to get Professor." With that, he ran back upstairs, to the door at the right end of the hall—the stairwell to the attic.

It was dusty and crowded in the little room; remnants of Dudley's old toys remained, as well as boxes of cherished Dudley mementoes (Dudley's first X-Mas…Dudley's first Bike…) and the Christmas decorations. Harry looked around for a moment, and then, behind the remains of Dudley's first computer, Harry discovered a medium sized leather trunk. It was black, with gold clasps, with white flowers painted on the side. Embossed on the front were the initials L.E.

Harry swallowed nervously; this was it, surely, he thought. L.E—his mother's trunk. He reached to open it, trembling with a mix of emotions; his nightmares of his third year resurfaced in his mind—that green light, his mother's screaming—the image of her in the Mirror of Erised, emerging from the end of Voldemort's wand…

"Need help, mate?" Harry saw Tonks standing on the stair, and nodded. "Well, that's good then. I think Dumbledore's in a hurry, and—hey, what's that?"

"Just another trunk. Can you help me carry it downstairs?'

"Sure. _Locomotor Trunk_. Ya know," she said as they moved back to the second floor, "I'll bet you'll be glad when you can use magic all the time. I know I was, anyway. Ugh! Having to do everything without my wand! I'd never get anything done!"

"Yeah, right…"

"I mean, I got on well enough growing up, what with mum insisting on it, but I've gotten so used to, ya know, _swish _! and it happens. Well, here we are. He's ready Professor." Dumbledore was waiting for them in the hall, Mrs. Figg, Moody and Shacklebolt talking in the sitting room. They grew quiet, however, as Harry entered the room.

"Harry will be leaving now, Kingsley. I believe you can inform the Ministry that there is no longer a need for the wards, and that they may conduct a full investigation. Nymphadora, if you will please say goodbye to Harry; it may be a while before he will see you again." He smiled at her, and then moved to a private corner with Moody, whose glass eye was fixed constantly on Harry.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye for now then, at least, until I sneak away from my Auror duties." She reached out and hugged Harry. Laughing as she stepped back, she said, "You've grown this summer; you're almost a whole head taller than I am. Pretty soon I'll have to stand on my toes to hug you!" Harry smiled.

"Tonks," he said then, "will you write me if there is any news about…about this? Just in case no else will tell me?"

"I don't know Harry…" She cast an uneasy look at Dumbledore. "I mean, if Dumbledore—"

"Please, Tonks—you know that sometimes Dumbledore doesn't tell me things even though I need to. I'm not asking you to lie to him or anything, just write to me."

"Alright."

"Thanks." He hugged her again, and then grabbed hold of his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Dumbledore walked to him, and they returned to Mrs. Figg's house, this time accompanied by Moody. He thumped behind them at a steady pace, keeping a look out, as Harry saw when glancing back—the glass eye was swiveling in its socket, turning rapidly to every corner of the street.

Mrs. Figg bade them goodbye, promising to report later that evening to Dumbledore, "incase," she said, "the Ministry does the proper thing and sends Aurors out again to pull the wards down." As it happened, Moody went with them to Dumbledore's flat; by the time Harry had put away the contents of his trunk in his room, however, the grizzled ex-Auror had gone.

"He has other matters to attend to Harry," Dumbledore said in response to Harry's questioning look. The headmaster sat down on a sofa in front of the fireplace, and motioned for Harry to sit as well. "It has been an eventful day for you, Harry." Harry withheld from commenting on the obvious, and simply nodded. "Is there anything you would like to talk to me about?" Immediately things came into Harry's mind: the loss of his family, the Death Eater he saw in Privet Drive, the trunk of his mother's that he hadn't yet opened, his guilt at not feeling more upset than he was and feeling at the same time he was at his worst, his confusion and anger…

"No, sir," he said, as he had many times before, "nothing."

"Well, I suppose I must talk to you about some serious, and possibly boring matters, but I ask that you do pay attention. Firstly, Harry, you are living here only temporarily until a more suitable home may be found. I think you should know that Professor Lupin is currently applying for your guardianship, but that is, unfortunately, in the hands of the ministry and may take some time. While you are here, I will ask that you be respectful and not allow curiosity to get the better of you, for, I must warn you, many of the objects of interest in this house are unfriendly to strangers. Secondly, we shall be in this flat for only a week before returning to the school."

"Why, sir?"

"Hogwarts itself has magic, within its very walls. It is quite possibly the safest place in all of England for you to be, as well as the best place for members of the Order to meet. You see, Harry, the Ministry, try as it might, has no real control over Hogwarts, and is usually unaware of what goes on within its walls. You shall be able to practice some magic, for example, which has become very necessary." Dumbledore looked at Harry thoughtfully, then continued, "Mr. Weasley has informed me of what you did to his dinner plates."

"That was an accident—I didn't mean to do anything Professor," Harry began.

"I know, Harry. It is simply that he confirmed what I have long suspected myself, namely, that you are a Mage."

"What is that exactly?" Harry said. "Mr. Weasley told me that it meant I could do wandless magic, but I don't really understand why that is so special. I mean, don't all wizards perform magic of some kind while they're kids?"

"Yes, Harry. What makes someone like you different is the fact that the power doesn't leave you when you hit puberty. In most wizards, the little instances of magic they showed in childhood occurred because they were not in practice of magic—they're magical ability had to be used, if infrequently, in order for them to maintain it. Then, once they get a wand, that magic is transferred to the wand."

"So, you're saying that most wizards' power is inside their wands?"

"Sort of. You see, the wand acts a conductor for the magic—when a wizard is in use of a wand, his magic is embedded in it, and he has little power left on his own. Should a wizard get a new wand or use the wand of another wizard, he can take his magic back into himself and then redistribute it to the new wand. But, transference of magic between wands is never completely successful, and thus the wizard is left with less power than before—the reason why the use of others' wands don't produce the same results as your own."

"Then, what about me? Where is my power if it isn't inside my wand?"

"Still within you. For you, the wand acts solely as a conductor for magic—none of it leaves you. Wandless magic can be learned, but it is a rare gift outside of mages."

"Are you a mage, sir?" Harry asked.

"With some limited ability," Dumbledore said. "Most of the wizards around you, your teachers, for example, use wordless magic, and therein it may appear as though they too are mages. But really, that sort of power is a rare gift. Right now, you don't have enough experience to draw your power out of you without the help of a wand, but, with training, you will be able to perform magic at will without one. I am sure you have experienced this a few times before, though." Harry thought a moment, remembering the night last summer when Dementors had fallen upon him and Dudley; he had cast the _Lumos_ spell without his wand. He nodded. "Your particular brand of magical ability reacts to your emotions, Sentient magic, as your greatest strength lies in them. Emotion acts as a fuel source for your powers, and, with training, you will be able to draw on the emotions of others to make your spells more powerful. But for now, you will simply need to learn how to control your power so that you don't damage property every time you become angry. This training you shall receive this summer, for it will be highly useful to you. Also, I expect you to continue your Occlumency lessons. You still maintain the connection with Voldemort, and so you are still vulnerable to as mental attack—"

"I will try Professor, but I will not do it with Snape anymore."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And you will continue with him—"

"No, I won't." Harry said firmly, staring the headmaster directly in the eye. "He doesn't teach me anything. I think he just enjoys attacking me."

"Harry—"

"I won't do it. I don't want to be anywhere near him, let alone open my mind to him. How do we know he isn't still working for Voldemort? How do we know he isn't just weakening my mind to make it easier for Voldemort to get inside my head?"

"That is enough," Dumbledore said firmly. "I trust Professor Snape, Harry, and I feel no obligation to tell you why. But please put aside this attitude—whether you like each other or not, you will work with him because we must be united if we want Voldemort defeated."

"I will continue Occlumency Professor, but I want as little contact as possible with _Professor_ Snape. I won't go trying to start anything with him, but I can't make any promises if he attacks me."

"I see we are of different views on the matter," Dumbledore said. "I will leave it at that, but remember, Harry, that you will need as many allies and teachers as possible. There will be very hard times ahead, for all of us, and it will only make us vulnerable to be divided." He moved from the chair to his desk and began looking through the parchment piled on it. "I suggest you go and write any letters you may feel necessary. Later, we are going into Diagon Alley to purchase some items and proper robes for you," he said, without looking up.

Harry went to his room. Ravenclaw was napping in her frame, and, to Harry's surprise, Hedwig was sitting on her cage. She hooted softly at Harry as he entered the room and allowed him to stroke her feathers.

"I'll have more work for you to do in a minute," he said, pulling parchment from the drawer of his desk. It took him a few minutes to finish his letters, one each to Hermione, Ron and Neville (to whom he had been writing since to night at the ministry. As with his other two friends, being nearly killed had made Harry closer to Neville than they had been in the five years they had been at school together.) He told them he was with Dumbledore, and, to Neville, what had happened to the Dursleys. To Hermione, he asked her to look into Occlumency—if Hermione could understand how to do it, then she could teach Harry. He also told them about his mage powers, though not in detail. Harry was unsure how Ron would take the news that Harry had yet another thing that singled him apart from the rest of the wizarding world, and after all that had happened last June, he didn't want to fight with Ron over something stupid like that. Satisfied with his letters, he gave them to Hedwig. He looked at the trunk sitting at the end of his bed, but decided against opening it. It was his mother's, and he didn't know what he would find in it; he didn't want anyone to walk in and see. _No_, he decided, _this is something to do on my own_.

Harry fell back onto his bed, closing his eyes. He was still warm with anger; he had agreed with Hermione that he had to be more cooperative, but he wasn't going to do anything simply because Dumbledore said so. Snape was part of the reason Sirius was dead, even if he was just slow in walking to nearest fireplace and calling for help. Sirius was dead, it was a fact, and Harry didn't have any evidence that Snape was trustworthy save Dumbledore's word, and, as shown last year, even the great Headmaster could make mistakes.

A clock chimed in the hall. _Was it only one o'clock?_ Harry wondered. He sat up.

"Were you sleeping?" asked Ravenclaw.

"No, just resting a minute."

"Oh. Perhaps you should lay down a bit longer," she said. "You really do not look very well."

"It's been a long day."

"So I heard." She smiled at him in a kind way. "You are stronger than most, Mister Potter, but you are still only sixteen. No one expects you to hold all this in."

"But, I have to. I can't waste time being a child. There is too much I am responsible for."

"We all have our responsibilities, you know. Even Dumbledore has to rest some time."

"I don't really care about Dumbledore at this moment."

"Now that, is a foolish thing to say," she said sternly. "Dumbledore is possibly your only reliable ally at the moment, or, at least, the only one with power enough to be useful. The best thing for you to do, Mister Potter, would be to find an outlet for your frustrations, because they will only distract you. In this room, you are free to do so, and I will not tell anyone."

"Thanks," Harry said, closing his eyes again. He really was tired, and the last thing he needed was for the pictures to be lecturing him as well. "I think I will take a nap."


	3. Flowered Stationary and a Snitch

20

Chapter Three: "Flowered Stationary and a Snitch"

Harry had only just dropped off when a house elf by the name of Dunkle came and woke him.

"Master Lupin is waiting for you, sir," squeaked the little elf. "He asks Mister Potter to please hurry." Harry put on his robes and followed the elf to the living room.

"Hi, Harry," he said, "Are you ready to go?"

"Are you coming with us?"

"It'll just be you and me," Lupin said. "Professor Dumbledore has business he must attend to."

"Oh," Harry said. Silently, he wondered whether the Headmaster was angry with him for what he had said earlier. Still, he was with Lupin, and he didn't care if Dumbledore was upset over Snape. "Let's go then."

They stopped first at Gringotts. There, Lupin deposited money into Harry's vault. It had been Sirius's, he explained, saved for Harry when his parents first suspected they were in danger. Harry also went to his vault and filled his moneybag with galleons, sickles and knuts. He was amazed at the increased stacks of gold and silver in the vault, having never thought of Sirius as wealthy enough to save that much for him. But then, he realized, he had received a Firebolt from his godfather. Silently, Harry thought about Sirius while Lupin did something "for the Order." Harry liked Lupin quite a lot, but it was no replacement for his godfather, as Sirius was no replacement for his father.

"Galleon for your thoughts?" Lupin was standing before him now.

"It's nothing," Harry said, collecting himself. "Where are we going next?"

"Well, I believe we need to stop at Madame Malkins', and then to Flourish and Blotts. You'll need to get some books for your studies this summer."

"What studies?" Harry asked as they walked back to Diagon Alley.

"Well, mostly in Defense, but in your other subjects as well, especially Potions. You've got talent Harry, we all know that, but it's about time you learned to use it."

"I'm on summer break and I have to do schoolwork?"

"It isn't so bad. Besides, once we're at the castle, you'll have the other professors to help you. And, I was actually wondering if you could help me."

"With what?"

"Well, I need to know what students were taught under you last year and how far along they are. I'll need to catch up the other students, and, though I haven't cleared it with Dumbledore—"

"You'll be back at Hogwarts this term then?" Harry asked excitedly.

"What? Oh, yes, I will. Anyway, I think it may be a good idea to continue your…er…_club_. Everyone will need what skills they can get. And apparently, we have a very talented group at Hogwarts. After all, it was only six students that fought last year, and did a good job of it." Harry smiled; he too had been proud of the progress of the DA, and was glad to hear recognition for it. He wouldn't tell Lupin, though, that he had planned to continue the DA even if the Headmaster told him not to.

Madame Malkins' was not very busy that afternoon. The busiest season of the year was closer to the start of term, when all Hogwarts students went to purchase their new robes. Harry chose several robes he liked, in varying colors, and a new set of dark green dress robes—Lupin hinted that he might need them, but wouldn't tell why.

Flourish and Blotts was nearly empty, save a middle-aged witch searching through the Magical Plants section ("I just know there is some way to get rid of those Puffapods.") and a balding wizard looking suspiciously at them over the top of a book entitled _How to Tell if Perfect Strangers are Going to Curse You_. Lupin went to talk to the clerk, leaving Harry to examine the shelves in the Magical History section.

There was an entire series of encyclopedias on Goblin revolutions, books on the creation of the Ministry of Magic (both approved and unapproved by the Ministry itself) and a set of volumes called _A Brief History of European Magical Societies_ by Insipidia Dreary, each three thousand pages long. The most interesting titles were found in the section on Wizard Legend. Harry looked through several books, _What Muggle Myths Were Stolen from Magical Lore_, _Legendary Beasts That Once Lived_, _The Reality of Legends and Why You Aren't Hallucinating_, and _What You Need to Know From Magical Myth and Why You Shouldn't Believe It_, before picking up a small red leather volume. The title, _Lost for Centuries: Magical Tools and Weapons _by Gretchen Talizmann, was embossed on the front in gold. Harry opened the book to the center, where he found a familiar picture looking at him. It was a drawing of the Philosopher's Stone.

"Where was this when I needed it?" Harry muttered to himself. He turned the page to see a drawing of three objects, a sword, an amulet and what appeared to be a large silver shield. The page opposite it read,

_The Keys of Light_

_Created in the early eighth century, the Keys of Light have been subject of more legendary tales than any other magical object known. The Keys consist of the bejeweled Lion sword, the amulet of Sight, and the Arms of Power. By the most reliable account, the Lion Sword was wielded by Godric Gryffindor in the battle of Traens Grove. The sword is said to have come to him as a gift from a mer-queen. The sword was originally called Excalibur, translated from the ancient merrish word for Lion and the name by which Gryffindor was also known._

"Shall we go?" Harry started at Lupin's voice.

"Hang on," he said, taking the book to the counter. Lupin waited for him while the clerk had to search for the price of the book. "I am almost certain we haven't ever carried this book," he said apologetically. In exasperation, the clerk finally pulled a book of similar size off the shelf behind him and charged Harry ten sickles.

"What book did you get?" Lupin asked later, as they sat down outside Fortescue's Ice Cream shop.

"Just something on myths that looked interesting. What did you get?"

"Oh, advanced Defense against the Dark Arts, Potions and Charms and, this I especially want you to read, a book on Magical Medicine. You, my dear boy, tend to frequently injure yourself, and it would be helpful to know some of the basics." He pulled the book from the bag and handed it to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said. "This might be a good thing to teach in Defense, Professor."

"That's why I want you reading it. Between you and Miss Granger, you should be able to teach all of the advanced students while I catch up the rest in Defense."

"Professor," Harry said, taking another sip of his shake, "do you think, if I kept up my…_tutoring_, that Dumbledore would let me run it the way I want? I mean, give me a little more room to do things."

"I don't know, Harry. We'll have to discuss that when we present the idea to him." Harry nodded. "Well, I think is almost everything. We'll have to stop at the apothecary to refill some of your supplies. At school, you'll have most ingredients available, but some of the basic ingredients you will have to bring."

They finished eating and went to the Apothecary before stopping to visit Fred and George. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was by far the most crowded shop in all of Diagon Alley, filled with students buying amusements for the summer. Fred was at the front of the shop, helping customers.

"Harry! Lupin! How are you?" he asked, walking over to them.

"We're fine," Harry said. "It looks like business is going well."

"It's been great. People just can't seem to get enough. We keep getting howler's though, but, it is the price one has to pay for success," he said in a victimized way. Then, smiling, he added, "Besides, we're just glad we don't have be the ones getting told off for it."

"Where's George?" Lupin asked.

"Oh, he's in the testing room at the moment. We're developing a new kind of toffee that will make whoever eats it sing everything they want to say, but for some reason after a minute they all end up singing the Spice Girls."

"I didn't know the Spice Girls were popular in the wizarding world," Harry said.

"They're really witches, you see, who decided to cross over into Muggle music. After a while, though, they came back. They said Muggles were bizarre and dressed strangely, and they had to pretend to break up to get rid of their fans," Fred explained. Harry shrugged, and they walked to a door behind the counter.

Beyond the door was a hallway with glass windows into the rooms lining it. There were wizards in each of the rooms, each with some deformity or problem. One man was being levitating off the ground as his pair of enormous ears flapped. A moment later, though, his ears had shrunk and he had fallen back to the floor.

"It only lasts a few seconds," Fred said as they passed. "The problem is trying to get control so that the ear puts you back on the ground before you fall."

At the end of the hall was a door labeled MANAGEMENT. As they opened it, Harry caught the words "If you wanna be my lover." George was sitting at a large desk, a stopwatch in one hand, quill in the other. Seeing the door open, he put a little blue pill into his mouth and swallowed.

"I only sang the chorus that time," George said.

"Great!"

"I think we've almost got it. Anyway, how are you Harry? Professor Lupin?"

"Well, George, well," Lupin said. "We were just doing some shopping and thought we'd drop by."

"The shop looks great George," Harry said.

"Well, thank _you_ mate."

"Hey!" Fred exclaimed, "We're going home tomorrow, do you want to come with us?"

"Well, I—"

"It's time for us to go," Lupin interrupted, checking his watch. They said their goodbyes and, after wishing the twins luck on their newest project and promising to visit soon, left the shop. "I'm sorry we had to cut that short, Harry, but we have to get you back to the flat. There will be a meeting tonight, and I think Dumbledore wants you there."

They hurried quickly back to the Leaky Cauldron and up the stairs to the flat. Dunkle was awaiting them and took the bags to Harry's room.

"Master Dumbledore will be back here soon, sirs," he said, "He asks that you wait for him here Mister Lupin and that Mister Potter wait in his room until Dunkle comes to fetch him." Harry left Lupin in the living room, therefore, and followed the elf to his room.

After putting his books on the shelf, Harry sat on the bed, unsure what to do. He felt irritated then, at having to follow orders without any reason.

"Wait here, don't go there," he muttered to himself. He looked around for something to do, wondering how long he would be left waiting. He saw the trunk, but thought better of it; he would open it tonight when he could be alone. Hedwig had not yet returned from her deliveries, and Ravenclaw was missing from her frame. Sighing, Harry went to the shelf and pulled out _Lost for Centuries_.

_The sword was left at Hogwarts School upon Gryffindor's death, where it remained undisturbed for centuries. In the later half of the twelfth century, however, an attempt was made to steal the sword from the school. The sword and its scabbard were hidden, though many believe it still lies within the school. The Lion Sword is said to endow its owner with heightened physical strength and the metal is practically indestructible. _

_The second Key is the Amulet of Sight. The medallion itself is engraved with runes that reveal themselves only to one chosen to guard the Keys; it is believed that the runes translate to the spell that will activate the Keys. At the center of the medallion is a blue opal, the mark of its creator Rowena Ravenclaw._

Harry looked up at Ravenclaw's frame, but she was still missing from it. He decided to see if she was wearing it the next time she appeared.

_The amulet serves to enhance the power of Seers and allow those without the Gift to look into the future to a limited extent. Ravenclaw wore the amulet until her death, and its whereabouts are to this day unknown._

_The final Key is the Arms of Power. The shield was forged of the same metal as the Lion Sword, endowed with powers of magical protection. The four charges on the shield are the lion, badger, raven and serpent—the basis for the coat of arms used for Hogwarts School—set against argent, or silver. The Arms was created by Helga Hufflepuff and stood in the great hall of Hogwarts School as protection against attack during the Great Schism in the eighth century. It was lost in the Battle of 765, during the sacking of Hogwarts and has never yet been found. _

_The Keys of Light, when brought together, endow their Guardian with unknown magic power. Legend tells a variety of gifts bestowed by the Keys, the most common of which include the ability to travel through time, control over natural magic and magical creatures, and near immortality. There are no known occurrences of the activation of the Keys of Light, but myth states that the Founders of Hogwarts School used them to defeat Salazar Slytherin in 778 A.D. _

Harry closed the book, amusing himself with the thought of writing to Gretchen Talizmann and informing her that he had used the Lion Sword in his second year against a basilisk. _That would definitely be a story for the Quibbler_, he thought. The story itself was interesting, much more than anything Professor Binns had told. Harry wondered why they hadn't every studied the war between the Founders.

A knock on the door brought Harry's attention to Dunkle, standing in the doorway looking at him.

"Master is ready for you, sir."

Overall, there were twenty witches and wizards assembled in Dumbledore's living room; Harry saw Moody, Tonks and Lupin, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt, a witch Harry remembered was named Emmeline Vance, Professor McGonagall, and Mrs. Weasley. The meeting hadn't yet started, and most of people present were standing in groups talking. Mrs. Weasley, eyeing Harry, motioned for him to join her on the sofa, and then hugged him.

"How are you feeling, dear?"

"Tired, Mrs. Weasley. But I'm okay."

"That's good. We were all so worried about you, even though you were with Dumbledore. But—oh, it looks like we're getting started. Just sit quietly until someone asks you something."

"What am I supposed to say?" Harry asked, but Mrs. Weasley did not answer him; Dumbledore had entered the room, causing all to silence themselves, and everyone found a place to sit. The Professor conjured a chair, facing the assembly, and began,

"As many of you know, an attack occurred today of some importance. In brief, the Muggle family that Harry"—he gestured toward Harry—"had been living with was murdered." An outbreak of murmuring began, and Harry felt the eyes of many of the company on him. After a moment, Dumbledore quieted them again and said, "Furthermore, the attack was most obviously performed by one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. If it was on his direct order, though, we cannot be sure. The question we must ask ourselves, however, why this happened."

"It seems a bit obvious," said a dark haired wizard in blue robes, "He wanted the boy as far from the protection set in place for him as possible."

"Don't be stupid," growled Moody. "Voldemort knows that Harry would just be placed in the care of one of us—more guarded than he was before. He isn't going to make it _harder_ for himself to kill the boy."

"Precisely," Dumbledore said. "So, what motive was there?"

"What if he was just trying to distract us?" Everyone turned to Harry, who felt himself go red, but continued, "I mean, us and the ministry are investigating it, right? So, with a lot of the Aurors out, there wouldn't be many to answer any calls for help at the Ministry." Dumbledore looked at Harry with approval.

"What would He need a distraction for then?" asked the witch named Emmeline Vance. "That would mean he already has some new scheme. We haven't had any time to prepare for his next move."

"More than likely, that is what he wants," Lupin said. "To catch us off guard."

"We will have to wait until we receive more information. Until then, I believe we should here the account of what happened on the Ministry front. Ms. Vance?" Emmeline Vance stood and cleared her throat.

"At approximately 9:40 this morning, magic detectors sounded at the ministry, alerting us of a tremendous discharge of magic in the area of Little Whinging. Aurors were dispatched to investigate, and returned with reports of a magical attack on three Muggles, namely, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley, legal guardians of Harry J. Potter. A large crowd of Muggles witnessed the incident, and the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad was dispatched to remove traces of magic from the scene and alter the memories of the bystanders. An investigation was begun by 11:37, revealing traces of the Explosivius Curse. This was recorded and all Ministry units were called back. Further investigation will not occur until tomorrow afternoon."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Have we finished our own investigation?'

"Not yet sir," Lupin said. "We've accounted for the whereabouts of all our known Death Eaters, excepting Avery and Goyle." Dumbledore nodded and opened his mouth to speak when Arthur Weasley appeared in the middle of the room, breathing heavily.

"Azkaban," he said, "Dementors swarmed the prison and released the prisoners. All ministry officials killed."

"How long?" Dumbledore asked.

"Within the hour."

"Kingsley, Ignatius"—the dark haired wizard in the blue robes stepped forward—"get back to the Ministry and find out what you can. Remus, Arthur, prepare watch for Malfoy Manor; more than likely, they will assemble there. The rest of you, find out what you must, and activate the emergency wards." In a moment, all the wizards in the room were gone, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone.

"I guess we know what they needed a distraction for," Harry said.

"Harry, if I leave, will you promise to remain here?"

"Of course."

Dumbledore sighed gravely. "Goodnight then." With a pop, the Headmaster was gone. Dunkle entered the room carrying a tray of lemonade and biscuits.

"Is the company gone?" he asked disappointedly. "They missed Dunkle's good refreshmentses."

"I'll have some, Dunkle," Harry said, accepting a glass. The elf smiled and went back to the kitchen. Harry took his lemonade and went back to his room.

The sun was setting, casting the room with an orange glow. Ravenclaw was still missing, but Hedwig was sitting atop her cage, waiting to be fed. Harry got an owl treat out of his drawer and put her in her cage. Then, he closed the door and sat down before the black trunk. He took a deep breath and pushed the lid open.

The lid of the trunk was lined with photographs—Harry saw many of the photos showed his parents together, a picture of his father in his scarlet Quidditch robes, and some of his father, Sirius and Lupin. One picture was not moving, however. It was a faded photo of a family; the parents sat on the steps of a large house, smiling at the two girls playing beneath them. One of the girls had red hair, and the other blonde. Harry unpinned it from the lid and turned it over. It read, "Me and Petunia, '70."

A stack of books lay in the left corner, an old bear and a pile of envelopes tied together with a white ribbon. There was also a black jewelry box, with a white lily on the top. Harry opened it and saw a variety of bracelets and necklaces of varying stones. He closed the box and put it back on top of the pile. It didn't sit right, though, and fell against the bear. Harry reached to straighten the doll when he noticed that it was holding an envelope in its paws. Curious, Harry pulled the envelope from the bear's grasp, and, looking at the front of it, gasped aloud.

It was addressed to Harry Potter. Nervously, Harry turned the envelope over and tore open the seal. His hands were shaking—had his mother written this? Surely… but what would it say? He closed his eyes and moment before pulling the parchment from the envelope.

The parchment had a flowered band around the edges—lilies.

_Harry-_

_If you are reading this, son, then your father and I have been killed. In truth, we are expecting it any day now; we fear that a spy has leaked our location to Lord Voldemort (if you do not know who this is, ask your godfather.) I am writing this letter to you so that you may know the truth about many parts of our history that you may never know._

_Firstly, we want you to know that we were aware of a prophecy concerning you and the Dark Lord before you were born. It is, in fact, part of the reason why we wanted to have a child—we knew you would survive all of this. I love you more than anything and am only grateful to have enjoyed my family for this long, but a war is no environment for a baby. _

_I suppose I should tell you a little of your grandparents, as they have all died by this time. Your father's parents, Thomas and Constance Potter were from a respectable pureblood line. They were good people, and donated constantly to St. Mungo's and Hogwarts, always the first to help anyone. My own parents, Charles and Rose Evans were both Muggles, but several generations previously my mother's family were wizards. My father died of a heart attack before I was married, and my mother shortly after that. The Potters died in a fight against Voldemort, buying your father and I time to escape. If you visit the town hall of Godric's Hollow, you will find a plaque engraved in their memory. I wish you could have known your grandparents Harry, but I know they were very proud of you and loved you very much. _

_It is a very dangerous life your father and I lead, Harry. Our work for the Order of the Phoenix has forced us currently into hiding, and the information that we have is vital to the defeat of the Voldemort. (If you do not know about the Order, ask your godfather.) Unfortunately, this is why I must write this letter to you—there is a very real possibility of our death and your father and I wanted you to know that we did not leave you alone without a good reason. If, by some miracle, we live to raise you, you would have been told this all by now._

_I suppose you are wondering why I left this in the care of my sister, Petunia. If she has not changed her opinions, she and her husband are very much against the world we live in. I instructed her to see that this trunk reach you, should I die, in hopes that you might reconcile her. I love her, though we have had our differences, and I know that, in her heart, she will do this for me. I think they have a son your age, Harry, and I hope that you and your cousin are good friends._

_You are a very special child, Harry. You are destined to fight a great battle with the Dark Lord. It is a great responsibility, I know, and I have long wished that it were some other that had to do this. You see Harry, you come from a long line of brave fighters—the Potters were never a noble family, but they were known for their great skill with magic and their valor. A Potter has fought in almost all the great battles in wizard history; in my family, our wizard line follows back to the Celts and the Faerie folk. Dumbledore tries to comfort us with doubt, but I fear there is little hope. There is strong magic in your veins Harry, the greatest of which is love. Your father and I love you Harry, and we only pray that you never have to read this letter._

_The only thing I have left to say is that inside this trunk, you will find several things of your father's and mine—things we left so that you might know us. Most importantly, there is a ring in the black jewelry box that I want you to have. Of your fathers, look in the bottom of the trunk._

_If you are reading this Harry, I can only tell you again that we love you and that, even if we are dead, we will be with you always._

_Your mother,_

_Lily R. Potter_

Harry closed his eyes a moment; tears ran down his cheeks, chilling the skin as air passed over the moist flesh. Harry forced himself to remember the night his mother died, to remember her voice so that it was as if she were speaking to him. With a shaking hand, he wiped his eyes and read the letter again. It was dated three weeks before their death. He folded it and placed it back inside the envelope, setting it on the floor beside the trunk. After a moment, he reached for the jewelry box. Inside, as his mother had said, was a single ring; it was silver, with a blue stone in the center, flanked by two rubies. Looking at it, Harry saw that there was an inscription on the inside.

_My Lily, my beautiful flower, my wife._

It was his mother's wedding ring, he realized. Harry put it back into the box and began pulling things out of the trunk. He found several photo albums, himself as a baby, of the people he assumed to be his grandparents—his grandfather had the same untidy black hair—of his father, Sirius, Remus and Pettigrew as students, and several of his mother with a fair haired girl who he did not know; there was a blanket, neatly folded near the bottom, patched in places, but still in good condition. It was scarlet and gold with a lion embroidered in the bottom left corner. Beneath this, Harry found another case made of dark red velvet. He looked it over for the way to open it and found a slip of parchment attached to the bottom with spell-o-tape. It read, "_To Harry, from your father_."

"This is what mum wrote about," he said to himself. There was a seam running around the middle of the box, which Harry pulled at with his fingers, prying the top off. Inside was a small golden sphere, sitting on a gold plate, no wider that Harry's palm—it was a Snitch. Harry felt himself smile a moment; he remembered the image of his father tossing the snitch by the lake…but then he recalled the rest of Snape's memory and was brought back to the trunk. He put all the albums, the bear, the jewelry box, the letter and the Snitch back into the trunk. Harry closed the lid of the trunk and lay down on his bed, wrapping his mother's blanket tightly around him.


	4. The Room of Requirement

21

Chapter Four: "The Room of Requirement"

Harry had been with Dumbledore for one week. The Headmaster himself was rarely with Harry, but Lupin spent every day from noon to four tutoring Harry. Harry's O.W.L.s had arrived that Wednesday; he had received Outstanding marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures, and he had managed Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration, and, to his great surprise, Potions, and Acceptable in Divination. He had failed both the Astronomy and History of Magic tests, neither of which he had finished, due to circumstances he had had no control of, and so he proudly sent a letter to Hermione informing her of his grades. After all, seven O.W.L.s were nothing to be ashamed of. Lupin had been pleased with the results of Harry's exams, but set to work immediately in Potions and Transfiguration.

"Your N.E.W.T.s will be much harder than anything you have learned so far," Lupin said one afternoon, as Harry was busy working on the Draught of Peace, which he had found much easier without Snape circling him commenting under his breath. "Potions you especially need to work on, if you want to be an Auror, that is."

"How did you know—"

"Professor McGonagall told me. I think it is an excellent goal Harry," Lupin added, smiling. "Both your father and Sirius were Aurors. But, the Aurors exam is very difficult and as you have not received enough…_instruction_ in that subject, I expect you to catch up this summer."

"But Professor," Harry said, "I thought I wouldn't make Potions this year. I mean, I only got an E on my O.W.L. exam. Professor McGonagall told me that Snape only took Outstanding—"

"Well, to be honest, your exam scored only one point under O. That, in the eyes of the review board, was enough to make you eligible for the class. After all, you were the only one besides Ron and Hermione to explain the Polyjuice Potion in full." Harry smiled with satisfaction at that, and filled a vile with his potion, which was issuing gray vapor.

"Done." Lupin took the vile and examined it.

"Excellent, Harry," he said. "Next time, though, remember to wait exactly four minutes before adding the ginger root—that is what makes it silver instead of gray. Overall, though, it is an excellent potion." He helped Harry clean up and then they began on Transfiguration. That was how their afternoons ran—after lunch, they spent forty minutes each on Potions and Transfiguration, then half an hour on both Charms and Herbology. Harry had shown tremendous improvement in Potions and was learning to transfigure large objects into compact items. ("As an Auror," Lupin said, "You will need to be able to carry items with you inconspicuously—after all, you wouldn't want to have to carry around a full-size cauldron, would you?") The rest of Harry's afternoon consisted of an hour in Defense and the remaining time in either Medicine or exercising Harry's newly discovered powers.

This last part turned out to be Harry's favorite; the training was not very difficult. As in his limited Occlumency lessons, he was forced to clear his mind and focus on whatever object he was trying to move (all he had attempted so far was levitation.) The hard part was getting the magic to surface without becoming emotional.

"It's like the Patronus Charm," Lupin had told him, "In one, you have to use a happy memory to empower your magic. In the other, you have to use your emotion. Think about something that had made you angry or frustrated or even happy, and channel it. Eventually, you will be able to use the emotions of those around you, so that you aren't using up your own energy." Harry was often tired after this, but, by the end of that first week, he was able to levitate objects without too much effort. Dumbledore, when he was there, often sat in on these sessions and appeared to be pleased with Harry's progress.

"Once you have mastered the basics," he said to Harry, after one especially good lesson in which Harry had managed to lift a desk a full foot off the floor while trying to prevent being hit with tennis balls that Lupin was tossing at him (part of his training including having to perform magic amid distraction); "you will be able to continue with the aid of Professor Flitwick."

In the morning, Harry would sit in his room reading the books Lupin had bought him. His book on magical medicine was somewhat complex, but Harry had learned to make a decent splint and heal minor cuts; most of magical medicine involved potion making, which Lupin had agreed to help Harry with when they got to the school.

Harry had kept his promise to Dumbledore and not touched anything on the shelves in the living room. He saw several dark detectors and a variety of fragile objects he did not recognize; there was a glass sphere that reminded Harry of a Remembrall that glowed a soft lilac color when someone was about to come to the flat.

For the most part, Harry kept to his wing of the flat. There were five other rooms besides his, that he had been in to, and three doors he had been unable to open. The rooms he had explored were much like his own had been when he first arrived, filled with bare furniture and little else. Rowena Ravenclaw was usually in her frame, and was always ready to talk. She knew a lot about Potions and Charms and helped Harry with any questions he had from his reading. She also told him more about magic history than Harry had ever learned with Professor Binns. Harry had asked her several times about the Keys of Light, but she would simply take on a remorseful expression and change the subject, so he decided to add that to the list of things he had for Hermione to look up.

Then, on Friday morning, Harry's week at the flat was over.

Harry awoke slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light in the room. He rolled over and grabbed his glasses from the bed stand. The room came into focus, and he saw, by the clock on the wall, that it was almost ten. Yawning, he got out of bed and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair. He was just pulling on his robes when a knock came at his door.

"It is Dunkle, sir," called the muffled voice.

"Come in, Dunkle." The elf ambled in, his large blue eyes watching Harry while he put on his socks. "Did you want something?" Harry prompted.

"Yes, sir, Dunkle was just waiting for sir to finish. Master Dumbledore wants Harry Potter to eat breakfast with him, sir."

"Let's go then," Harry replied, following the elf to the dining room. The dining room was a normal looking room, filled almost entirely with a large wooden table that seated twelve. It lacked windows, and decoration, for that matter; there was a single portrait, on the west wall, of a young woman with long black hair and gray eyes. The table, this morning, was set with two places and several trays of food. Dumbledore was already seated when Harry entered the room.

"Good morning, Harry," he said.

"Good morning, sir." Harry sat down at the Headmaster's left and began putting butter on his toast.

"After breakfast, Harry, I want you to pack your things. We are moving to the school today, and I would like to be there as soon as possible. I think the castle will be better suited for you tutoring, though you have made some great progress." As Harry's mouth was full of toast, he simply nodded. "You will be able to practice greater magic at the castle than you can here, which should help you. And, I expect you shall continue your Occlumency lessons."

"As I told you, sir, I will continue my lessons, but not with Professor Snape. I have," Harry said quickly, "been practicing every night before I go to bed."

"Harry, Professor Snape is possibly the only tutor suitable to help you with your Occlumency."

"He doesn't want to teach me," Harry replied. "He told me so himself. Why can't you or one of the other Professors do it—"

"With Voldermort publicly gaining power, I will be, and already am, exceedingly busy. You must learn Occlumency, and will require the full attention of a master to teach you; I would not want you to receive only basic instruction simply because I have other demands on my time. Professor Snape is the only person at Hogwarts, besides myself, skilled enough in Occlumency to instruct you." Harry sat in silence, which Dumbledore seemed to take as compliance. "So, if you will please have your things ready, we will leave in an hour." With that, he left the table. Harry took another piece of toast and went back to his room.

Angry, he sat eating while he practiced putting his clothes in his trunk without his wand.

"There is no way I am working with that slimy bastard," Harry growled. "_Ab intra!_" he said to his books, flinging out his hand as he would a wand. They flew from the shelves and hit his trunk so sharply that it slid back across the floor.

"What's wrong dear?" asked Ravenclaw, awoken by the noise.

"Nothing." Harry took a moment to calm himself. Taking a deep breath, he collected his anger and directed it to his Firebolt, which lifted easily from the shelf to his trunk. It didn't matter what Dumbledore said, because he had resolved against Snape; he was already going to take Potions again this year, and that itself would be more contact with the Potions Master than he wanted. He had received a reply from Hermione earlier in the week, telling him she would be glad to help him and that she had already ordered several books that she thought looked promising.

Harry had begun feeling he would have to be separate from Dumbledore and the Order if he was going to prepare fully to fight Voldemort. This would include his Occlumency training, and, if he had to, the DA; he had already made plans to return it. Over the next month before term, he was determined to find another place for them to practice, or, at least, find another entrance into the Room of Requirement. The Defense lessons Lupin had begun with him would be valuable training to the members of the DA; he hoped, if possible, to expand the DA this year, and wanted current members to help him teach any new recruits. There was little the teachers could do at Hogwarts, with the Ministry still insisting that they had the situation under control and were only days from discovering Voldemort's whereabouts, and, if last year told him anything, many in wizarding world were more likely to deny the idea of any real danger. Harry knew that there was a need for them to protect themselves, and the more students he could teach, the less likely they were to fall victim. Hogwarts was more than likely going to be the sight of a battle—Harry knew Voldemort well enough to know that he would want to defeat Dumbledore at the castle, the symbol of the headmaster's strength—and it would take more than the teachers to defend it. He had already written to all the former members of the DA, excepting Cho Chang, Marietta Hedgecombe, and Michael Corner, telling them that he would continue it. And of course, Ron and Hermione were helping him come up with his plans.

Hedwig was still gone delivering the letters, but he had no doubt that she would find him at Hogwarts. Sighing, Harry looked around the room to see if he had gotten everything. He took the blanket from the end of his bed and put that in his trunk, and then opened his mother's, which had been sitting underneath his bed. He had decided to leave it here, sure that it would be safe, but he removed the letter from his mother, the ring and the snitch and put it in his own trunk. As an afterthought, he pulled a picture from the lid of the trunk—it was of his parents, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew, and another light haired girl who Harry was unfamiliar with. They were all smiling, holding their diplomas out for the camera to see. Harry put it on the inside of the album Hagrid had given him and locked his trunk. Satisfied, he placed Hedwig's cage atop the trunk and lifted it from the floor.

"Good-bye, Harry," Ravenclaw said from her frame as Harry left the room.

Harry and Dumbledore took the Knightbus to Hogsmeade, were one of the school carriages waited for them outside the Three Broomsticks. The thestral snorted in a friendly way at Harry as they approached the carriage, and he ran a hand over its leathery back. He then turned to get his trunk, and saw that it was already being lifted off the sidewalk. Turning, he saw a house elf drop out of the carriage and assist Dumbledore's inside it. It was Dobby—no other house-elf at Hogwarts would were socks, let alone one that was bottle green with orange polka dots and another with purple stripes.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry Potter, sir," he squeaked, guiding Harry's trunk into the carriage.

"Thanks, Dobby. How's your summer?"

"Wonderful, Mister Potter, sir, and Dobby is honored that you should ask him. The castle is too quiet, though, sir. The house elves will be glad when they have students to serve."

Harry climbed into the carriage with Dumbledore, and, after Dobby placed himself on the trunks, the thestral began pulling the carriage down the main road. Harry was surprised to see Hogsmeade filled with people, even though school was out for the summer. A few people waved as the carriage passed. Then, they were out of Hogsmeade, riding towards the castle. Harry could see it on the cliff over the lake; the tall towers and immense stone walls seemed small from the distance. The lake was a sparkling blue, reflecting the rolling white clouds above it, rippling gently in the breeze that passed refreshingly over them. The carriage came upon the gate, which magically swung open, welcoming them home. Despite all that had happened in the last week, Harry found himself smiling—Hogwarts always had been his true home, after all.

The carriage came to a stop at the front of the school, were Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Hagrid stood waiting. Dobby jumped out of the carriage and took the trunks into the castle.

"Hiya Harry," Hagrid said, smiling, as he took hold of the thestral's harness. "See you later." Harry smiled at him, and watched as he pulled the thestral down towards his hut. Turning back, Harry followed Dumbledore up the steps.

"Mister Potter, Albus," McGonagall said with a curt nod. Dumbledore led the way into the Great Hall, talking to Professor McGonagall, leaving Harry and Lupin to follow.

"I suppose you don't want a lesson today," Lupin asked, smiling.

"Not really, Professor."

"That's all right. It's a fine day—how would you like to go down to the pitch for some flying? I heard you haven't had much practice in the last few years, and Gryffindor needs its Seeker in top form."

"Really Professor? That's great—I'll just put my things up and meet you back down here," Harry said, and ran for the stairs. He stopped, however, at the first step, and, turning around, asked,

"Er…what's the password into Gryffindor Tower?"

"There are no passwords to the dormitories over the summer," Lupin replied, disappearing into the Great Hall. Surprised at this, Harry shrugged and went up the staircase. When he arrived outside Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady smiled at him and said, "Here a little early this year, I see," before swinging forward. Gryffindor Tower looked as it always did, and Harry found that the dormitory sign still read "Fifth Years." His trunk was already at the foot of his four-poster, and his was the only bed with sheets on it. Hurriedly, he put his clothes in the bureau, and grabbed his broom from his trunk.

Lupin was waiting outside the Great Hall, holding a large crate and a broom.

"I borrowed this from Madame Hooch," he explained, gesturing to the crate, "but she gave it to me on the condition that we not loose her Snitch. But I don't think that should be a problem, should it?"

"No, Professor," Harry laughed. "I didn't know you played."

"Oh, never for the House team," Lupin replied. "But, with James as Chaser, we often spent the summers helping him train. I'm not terribly good, but if it's just for fun…well, I just hope you won't embarrass me too badly."

"I'm not sure what Oliver Wood would say if he knew I'd lost to a teacher, sir. I'm afraid you'll just have to do your best." Lupin grinned, flashing his white canines in the bright summer sun. As the walked onto the pitch, Harry felt the familiar fluttering sensation in his stomach. He had missed playing more than he had realized—he had spent most of his time resenting Umbridge and trying to work out his dreams that he hadn't quite felt the loss. After watching a few games with Ron, he had given up on the House cup entirely.

He mounted his broom and kicked off. The breeze felt good, gently lapping against his face. He freed his mind for a moment, closed his eyes and allowed himself time to enjoy the sensation; he was back in the air, where he was most comfortable, where he didn't have any responsibility or worries. He looked down at Lupin, small against the vast green of the field. He took hold of the broom's handle and dived down, gaining speed quickly as he flew; he approached the ground and pulled himself level, so that his feet were inches from the grass. He circled the field once like that, before stopping next to the professor.

"Do you want to play Keeper or Chaser?" Lupin asked, tossing Harry the large red Quaffle.

"Chaser."

"All right. Mount your broom."

They played for an hour, trading positions, and, near the end, releasing the Snitch and racing each other to catch it. Harry won 230 to 60, and was in a jolly mood by the time they landed to put the balls away.

"You're a great flier, Harry," Lupin said, breathing a little harder than normal from the exercise. "It's hard to keep up with you."

"Thanks," he said and handed Lupin the Snitch. He took one handle of the crate and helped Lupin back up the hill to the castle. "Is there anything you needed help with?"

"No. You enjoy the afternoon, Harry."

"Well, I want to go down and visit Hagrid, if you don't need me, that is."

"No, go do what you want. Tomorrow, though, we'll spend some time working. And be sure you're on time for dinner. It's at seven." Harry agreed and ran toward the hut at the edge of the forest.

Hagrid was behind his hut, carrying a large barrel that smelled strongly of burnt toast.

"What is that, Hagrid?"

"It's dried Aldersaw, a fungus, you know. It's fer the leveenas."

"The what?"

"Leveenas, they're forest guardians. There's loads o' em in the forest, and Dumbledore figures the more creature we got on our side the better, what with the centaurs bein' so stubborn. So, I thought I might put the N.E.W.T classes in charge of 'em." He had removed the lid from the barrel and was taking handfuls of a yellowish moss and tossing it along the forest edge. "Aldersaw is a favorite o' leveenas, but it's dead hard to find in the summer."

"Why are the centaurs against us?" Harry asked, taking some moss from the barrel. "They know what's going on, more than anyone."

"They're might set against Dumbledore, anyway. They didn't none like him takin' in Firenze. You've seen 'em, they think wizards want to enslave them, or some nonsense like tha'. I say, if they want to keep to themselves, fine, just so as they don't meddle wi' us." He emptied the last of the barrel's contents onto the ground, and put the lid back on. "Well, what about a cuppa tea?" Harry accepted and they went inside. Fang barked happily at Harry as he sat down at the scrubbed wooden table, and licked his hand in greeting.

"So," Hagrid said, putting the kettle on the fire, "how you like livin' with Dumbledore?"

"It was alright, I guess. He wasn't there most of the time."

"Busy man the 'Eadmaster. I'm sure sorry about your family, though. I never much liked that Dursley myself, but they was yer family, and that's nothin' to take lightly."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said quietly. They sat a moment in silence, before Harry asked, "How's Madame Maxime?"

"Olympe? She's fine. I went an' saw her at that school o' hers. It's a real fancy place—but I like 'Ogwarts better, to tell you the truth. Doan tell her tha' though," he added with a wink. "She's sure somethin' special, though, I can tell ya that. Somethin' special." His face took on a dreamy expression that Harry had only before seen when Norbert the dragon had lived in the hut; the whistling kettle brought Hagrid back from his thoughts. They spent the rest of tea talking about Quidditch and what subjects Harry wanted to take (sixth and seventh year students were allowed to pick their classes according to what career they had chosen) and Hagrid's plans for Care of Magical Creatures that year; he seemed confident that this year would be his best. The afternoon passed quickly, and at four Harry left for the castle.

The castle was quiet without the sound of the students; Harry decided that the first of September wouldn't come soon enough. The Great Hall was empty, and he didn't pass anyone on his way up the grand staircase, or the first, second or third floors. _This is going to be a fun summer_, he thought dully. He decided to go up to the owlery to see if Hedwig had returned yet. He passed Peeves on the fifth floor drawing flowers on the suits of armor, moving quietly so as not to attract the poltergeist's attention. Then, as he was walking down the seventh floor corridor, Harry caught sight of a familiar image—the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. _I _really_ need something to do_, he thought furiously, _I_ really_ need something to do_…

A door appeared in the wall opposite; the Room of Requirement was still there. Harry opened the door and found himself in the room similar to what it had been last year, except that the cushions and pads were missing. In fact, the books were gone as well. The only thing in the room was a single stand, with a book resting on it, sitting in the exact center. Somewhat disappointed, Harry went to the stand. The title read _A Guide to Magical Training_.

"A guide? What's this for? I already have Lupin," Harry said, as though the room would listen to him and alter itself. It did not, however, and, shrugging, he opened to the first page.

To begin your Magical journey, repeat the following:

To Hogwarts School, I solemnly swear,

I am a warrior for light.

The burden of many do I bear—

Guide my sight.

This journey I make,

For the good of all, all else I forsake.

Harry turned the next page, only to find it blank—all the pages were blank except the first. _Reckless…_He thought a moment, until curiosity buried the voice of Hermione.

"To Hogwarts School, I solemnly swear, I am a warrior for light. The burden of many do I bear. Guide my sight. This journey I make, for the good of all, all else I forsake." He closed his eyes, and held his breath…nothing happened. He opened one eye slowly and looked around. Nothing in the room had changed; the walls were still bare, the cushions were still absent; Harry let out a sigh.

"Waste," he muttered, and reached to close the book. Looking down, however, he saw that the first page had disappeared; it had been replaced with a table of contents, written in curling scroll. "Chapter One, Occlumency?" Harry read. Suddenly, the page began to glow, the words fading into the golden light. The light became so fierce that Harry had to shield his eyes, though he was trying desperately to see what was happening. A burst of warm air hit Harry square in the stomach, sending him sprawling backwards.

"Get up." Harry looked up; the light was gone, and standing above him was a man with dark hair that fell to his shoulders. "Get up," the man said again, "You'll be knocked down again soon enough, but it's the number of times you get back up that matter." Harry got to his feet, his hand inside his robes, ready to reach for his wand.

"Who are you?"

"Your teacher. Now, if you are ready, we shall begin." Harry looked at the man with reservation.

"What will you be teaching me, exactly?"

"Whatever you want. For the moment, however, you wish to practice you Occlumency, so I am here. Shall we begin?"

"Look, I don't know where you came from, but you can go back."

"I don't have time for this foolishness," the man snapped. "If you must, call me Professor. If you don't show a little more initiative, I am going to leave you to figure this out on your own. Now, we shall begin."

"Begin what—"

"_Legilimens!_" The room blurred into gray, the mist rising from a black cauldron and a figure, climbing out…he saw Ron sitting on the floor, glowing tentacle-like bands wrapped around his neck…he saw his Aunt checking her hair in the hall mirror…

"STOP IT!" The room came dizzyingly back into focus, and Harry discovered that he was on the floor, pointing his wand steadily at the Professor.

"Well done," the Professor said, smiling. "You could have done worse, for having been so wholly unprepared. Now, are you ready to fight back?"

"Yes," Harry said. He pulled himself from the floor and looked the man in the eye. "I'm ready."

"_Legilimens!_" He saw King's Cross, and a red haired family walking towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten…he was looking at the mirror in disbelief, at the hair that hadn't been there the night before…he was flying, searching for the snitch at every flash of lightning…but the dark sky was beginning to fade, and the Professor became clearer…he screwed up his mind in concentration, and said,

"_Protego!_" The Professor lowered his wand.

"Excellent. Again."

Harry stumbled down the hall. The Professor had practiced with him until Harry couldn't stand from exhaustion. He had simply smiled, and told Harry to meet him in the Room of Requirement again the next day. In another flash of golden light, he had disappeared. Harry reflected on the lesson; he had held his own more than he ever had with Snape—due partly to the fact that he didn't have any dreams to distract him—and the Professor seemed pleased. As Harry found his way to Gryffindor Tower, he pondered the Professor. He was still hesitant about the strange man, but he reasoned, if the Room of Requirement had supplied him then he must be a true teacher. Tired, he fell onto his bed, allowing his aching muscles a moment to relax.

Somewhere, a clock sounded, announcing six thirty. Harry sat up…dinner was at seven; he had just enough time to change and get back downstairs. Moving as quickly as he was able to force his body to do, Harry put on one of his nicer robes, dark red, and ran a brush through his hair. His forehead was sticky with sweat, so he splashed some water from the water basin onto his face and wiped it dry with a hand towel. With a last look in the mirror, he ran out of Gryffindor Tower.

There were a surprising number of teachers in the Great Hall, considering how empty the castle had felt earlier; he saw Dumbledore engaged with Professor Sinistra from the Astronomy department, Lupin and Hagrid sitting on the left side of the table, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Sprout sitting opposite the Headmaster; overall, Harry guessed there were twenty teachers present, but he did not see Snape anywhere. Harry arrived with five minutes to spare, and was glad when he saw Professors McGonagall and Flitwick entering after he had already been seated, next to Hagrid and Lupin. He felt awkward at first, unused to the informality of the professors, and, after hearing Professor Vector sing, urged by the headmaster to provide the night's entertainment, Harry felt he would never take Hermione's complaints about Arithmancy again. Soon enough, dinner was over, and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower where he fell into an undisturbed sleep.


	5. Birthday Guests

AN: Hey everyone! I'm finally updating this - sorry, but the muse left me for a while. Actually, I went back and changed some things in chapters 2-4, including a slightly different explanation of Harry's powers, a little more IC Dumbles and Lupin, and returning the story to the original HP/LL ship that I first wrote.

Hope you like it! And don't forget to R&R!

* * *

Chapter Five: "Birthday Guests"

Harry woke early the next morning. There was none but himself at breakfast in the Great Hall, and he took the silence to plan his day. He would check the owlery first thing to see if Hedwig had brought anything back, and then find Lupin. If he could finish his lessons by four o'clock, he would have time to get to the Room of Requirement. Satisfied, he helped himself to another slice of bacon.

This first item on his list was soon taken care of, however; Harry was about the leave the Great Hall when three owls came into the Great Hall, depositing letters on the table before him. One was from Tonks, the other two from Luna Lovegood and Neville.

_Harry-_

_I know I told you I'd update if there were any news, so, here it is:_

_We know it was the Death Eater Malcolm Avery that performed the attack on the Muggles. He was tracked to Malfoy Manor, where we think that Lucius Malfoy and co. has gone. Currently, Malfoy Manor is inaccessible to the Ministry, and Fudge is trying to keep it out of the papers by not making too much of a fuss._

_I'll write when there's anything else._

_Tonks._

Harry then opened Luna's letter.

_Harry,_

_So good to hear from you. Daddy and I have yet to find any snorkaks, but we're sure we're on the right track. We did find a lovely man whose great grandmother had been a dragon, and he agreed to share his story with Daddy. He even demonstrated his ability to breath fire!_

_I'm glad you are continuing Dumbledore's Army. To be honest, that was the most fun I have ever had in school. Besides that, I think we all need to be ready, just in case._

_I am looking forward to seeing you, Hermione, Ronald, Ginevra, Neville and the others._

_Write to me soon,_

_Your friend,_

_Luna_

Harry smiled as he folded Luna's letter; he thought about the first time he had seen her on the school train, reading the Quibbler upside down. He was in a good mood, in fact, though he couldn't tell why. He added writing a letter to her to his list of things to do that day. Putting this second letter down, he opened Neville's.

_Harry-_

_What was it like living with Dumbledore? I like him, but I think it would be kind of frightening._

_I'm sorry about your Aunt and Uncle. The world is just going to be a better place when the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who are gone; no one will have to lose their families anymore._

_I can't wait for school to get back in—have you found somewhere where we can practice defense yet? Is the Room of Requirement still there? Gran was really impressed with everything I learned last year. She spent the whole last visit to my parents telling them about it. If there is anything you need help with, just ask. I know I'm not quite so good at everything as Hermione, but I can try._

_Write soon, and, if not, I'll see you on Sept. first._

_—Neville_

_p.s_

_I just got a letter from Ginny, and she says hello from her and the rest._

Harry put Neville's letter back in the envelope. He felt a renewed sense of determination about the DA; he knew it meant a lot to Neville if he mentioned it to his parents. Harry set off to find Lupin, ready to study. He wanted to be a good as he possibly could so that he had more to teach them all.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was in his classroom, cleaning glass aquariums.

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin said cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Professor. Um…I was wondering, could we start lessons early today?"

"Sure, Harry. Where do you want to begin?"

"I wanted to work more on transfiguration." Lupin nodded and put the aquarium he had just finished cleaning on top of one of his bookshelves.

"How about we start by transfiguring animals into other animals. I think Professor McGonagall mentioned this as one of the lessons she wants the N.E.W.T students to learn most." He produced a jar of spiders from his desk, and, stupefying it, placed one before Harry. "The incantation for this particular transfiguration is 'Specie transius.' There are certain limits to the type of creature you can transfigure another into. As a basic rule, the creature you are transfiguring may increase up to four times its size. Larger than that, and the magic cannot sustain the transformation."

"Why?"

"The strain on the internal organs is too harsh, and the body repels the magic. A mouse being transfigured into an elephant would experience a great amount of pain with the sudden growth of its heart and lungs. The stress would cause the body to go into shock, you see." Harry nodded, looking down at the stunned spider. "So, for now, let's stick with smaller things, like insects. Try changing the spider into a ladybug." Taking his wand, Harry performed the wave necessary in transfiguration—as sort of left, right, left swish—picturing the ladybug in his mind's eye.

"_Specie transius!_" The spider developed a red color, the black receding into spots, but the legs did not shrink.

"Good try, Harry, good try." Lupin waved his wand over the semi-transfigured spider, which became solid black again. "For a first, that was really excellent. Now, really picture the ladybug in your mind. If it helps, close your eyes a moment and concentrate on the image before trying again." Harry took a moment and said,

"_Specie transius!_" The spider again became red, and the legs became significantly shorter, but were still too long. He tried another time, finally getting it right, after which Lupin made him repeat the transfiguration four more times so that he did it flawlessly. Then, Harry made the spider become an ant, a centipede, and a cockroach. Satisfied, Harry continued practicing on objects; by the end of two hours, he had managed to shrink Lupin's desk down to pocket size and back, and change one of the glass aquariums into a quill.

After this, they took a break for tea, and then spent an hour on Charms. Harry was learning the Somnulus Charm, which put whoever it was cast on into a four-hour sleep. A Shield Charm easily deflected it, but nothing would awaken the victim once the charm was cast. Ideally, Lupin had told him, it was used as a treatment for insomnia, and not as an attack. Harry, who had experienced bouts of insomnia before, usually before Quidditch matches, hoped the Charm might be useful, and he was determined to perfect it, using the spiders as his targets.

"I'll have to warn all the teachers you know this," Lupin laughed, putting the jar of motionless spiders back into his desk. "You would never have to use the Marauder's map again if you could just put everyone to sleep."

"I promise not to use it for that," Harry said. "It is tempting though…just kidding," he added at the look on Lupin's face.

"I hope so. Now, what do you say we start on some Potions? There is one I found that should interest you—it's called the Draught of Truth. When drunk, it enables you to tell if someone is lying to you, like a reverse sort of Veritaserum. It is very handy for Aurors, especially if you don't know Legilimency." He went to his shelf, and continued, "It is fairly simple, but the trick is timing. You have to add the ingredients at certain times of day, and so it can be somewhat tedious to make. Ah, here." He pulled a thick text out and handed it to Harry. The marked page showed two wizards, one of which was faintly discolored at the edges. The list was on the page opposite, along with the directions.

"As you see," Lupin said, "the main component of the potion is milk from a moonflower. The moonflower sprouts only on the full moon, and fills with a purple-ish liquid for exactly two hours before sunrise—its milk. The moonflower itself is used in a variety of potions for it magical potency. We can't start making it today, but I want you to read as much about it as you can. Shall we duel a little, then?"

Harry eagerly agreed, and helped move the desks to the edges of the room. The lesson went well; Lupin taught Harry ways to anticipate a number of attacks as well as the Repellant Charm.

"If used as a defense, it reverts an unfriendly attack back on the attacker; if used offensively, it very definitely knocks a person off their feet," Lupin said. He allowed Harry to practice it by performing Tickling Charms—he didn't want to try anything worse as they didn't have any mats or pads in the room.

It was half past eleven when they finished, and Harry excused himself to go write his letters. Lupin agreed to meet him for lunch, and made Harry help put the room back together before leaving.

Up in Gryffindor Tower, Harry found another envelope sitting on his bed, this time from Hermione.

_Harry,_

_I'm so proud of your O.W.L scores! I got mine yesterday, and managed and O in everything but Defense, which was very disappointing. I'm not sure what career I want to do, so I'm not sure what classes to take next year. Any thoughts?_

_It's excellent that we're continuing the D.A. this year. By planning it this summer, we should get a lot more accomplished over the year. It's really important that we support inter-house unity, and if we can get more of the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins (yes, even them) together to fight against Voldemort, the better it will be for everyone. It will be a real example to the rest of the wizard world, and help stop all that pure blood nonsense._

_I hope you're making use of your time at the castle (I'm sure you're there by now) and studying. Oh! I almost forgot—I got that book on Occlumency I told you about. It would take years for me to learn Legilimency, but I've got a pretty good idea about the theory behind it. And practice is practice, right? I only wish you would try again with Professor Snape—he's really the best teacher for you._

_See you soon, and write when you can._

_With love,_

_Hermione_

Harry put the letter in his desk and took out four sheets of parchment. He wrote Ginny's name at the top of the first sheet, and sat a moment, wondering what to write. He tried a few beginnings, and then settled on,

_Luna,_

_I'm sorry you didn't find the snorkaks, but it sounds like you had fun anyway. I'm living at the castle now, and I can't wait for term to start; it's too quiet around here and the teachers act so strange—like normal people! Professor Lupin is back this year. Actually, he volunteered to help with the DA if we want._

_I found the Room of Requirement again, and the strangest thing happened. This wizard appeared out of nowhere, told me to call him "Professor" and is helping me study magic. I'm not really sure if he's real or if the Room made him, but he's helped a lot. It's odd, though._

_Hope the rest of your summer is okay,_

_Harry._

Rereading the letter, he almost crossed out the part about the Professor, but didn't; for some reason, he felt he could confide this in Luna. She was more ready to accept it without lecturing him or wanting in on it, like Ron and Hermione, and she wouldn't think he was odd; after all, she could see the thestrals too. He wrote to Ron and Hermione, as well as Neville, telling them similarly about life at the castle, and Lupin's return (which he had forgotten mention in his last letters). In each, he asked them for suggestions about ways to improve the D.A., and assured Hermione that any subject she took she would be good atSatisfied with these, he went to the owlery and gave the letters to a large brown owl; he wanted Hedwig to rest after all her previous journeys, which he had to explain to her when she looked reproachfully at him for giving the letters to a school owl.

Lunch was a simple affair; Harry ate lunch with Lupin in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where one of the house-elves brought them trays of sandwiches and a pitcher of iced pumpkin juice.

"Dumbledore likes the teachers together at dinners, but most of us prefer lunch on our own. There's still a lot of work to do before term starts, after all," Lupin explained. After lunch, Harry spent some time with Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary.

"I was wondering," he asked, "if I could come to the hospital wing during my free periods. I'm learning some Magical Medicine, but I wanted to see some real healing." Madame Pomfrey, apparently flattered, agreed and set him immediately to work filling the potion bottles in her office cupboard. All the hospital potions came in large gallon containers, which were kept in a storeroom; Harry brought these out and used a device resembling a turkey-baster to fill the little vials.

"Most healing involves potions, draughts and serums," the medi-witch said, taking the filled glass jars and placing them back in the cupboard. "If you have the right potion with you, you can heal anything. It is fairly simple to cure the effects of hexes, for example, with a potion based with pickled Murtlap…" Harry listened carefully to her instruction, but found she often preferred her own home brewed potions to any found in books; after some coaxing, she agreed to share them with him if he would promise to continue assisting her in the infirmary. He said he would, and they spent the rest of the afternoon happily finishing filling the potion bottles.

At four o'clock, Harry was again in the seventh floor corridor, standing before the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. After a moment, the door appeared, and Harry went in to find the Room of Requirement as it was the day before; he went over the book, which lay open at the table of contents. He waited a moment, unsure of what to do. He recalled the day before…he had simply read the chapter title, and the Professor had appeared.

"Chapter One: Occlumency," he said. He wasn't knocked down this time, but the brilliancy of the light made him turn away; looking back, the Professor was standing before him.

"Did you clear your mind last night?" he asked.

"Yes. Or, at least," Harry admitted, "I didn't dream anything."

"Well, let's see how much better you are." He pulled a wand from his robes and pointed it at Harry, who had done the same, bracing himself for the attack.

"_Legilimens!_"

The image of a younger Dudley came to his mind, chasing him across the schoolyard, but the Professor and the room remained clear.

"_Avertus!_" he cried. The Professor was thrown back; when he stood up again, however, Harry could see the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

"Who taught you the Repellant Charm?"

"Professor Lupin."

"How did you feel that time?" Harry described seeing the memory, but as if it was a transparent image, overlaying the room. "You are learning fast, Harry. I'll soon be able to teach you some real Occlumency."

"Again?"

"Certainly. _Legilimens!_" Harry felt the spell hit him, but he reacted before any memories surfaced.

"_Expelliarmus!_" The Professor's wand flew into the air, caught by Harry. The Professor nodded at him, his sign of approval. Harry tossed the wand back and they went again. Harry felt exhilarated; he had learnt in only two sessions what Snape hadn't been able to teach him in months.

"Why are you grinning, Mr. Potter?"

"No reason," Harry replied.

"Well, then, I suppose we may continue?" Harry nodded and, for a second time, sent the Professor's wand from his grasp.

"_Accio_." The wand returned to his hand in an instant, faster than Harry could catch it in flight. "I think we may end here. Tomorrow, we may start the real lessons." The golden light flashed, and he was gone.

Harry awoke on Sunday morning to the sound of something singing; Dobby was standing on the edge of his bed, belting out "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks Dobby," Harry said, stopping the elf before he could screech out his name.

"You're most welcome, Mister Potter, sir." Dobby continued to stare at him, until Harry finally said,

"Er…Dobby, would you mind leaving? I have to get dressed, you know."

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir, of course." Grinning and bowing, the elf left the room. Harry sighed exasperatedly and rolled back over onto his stomach, closed his eyes and tried to recall the dream he had been having; he was at a large party, surrounded by all his friends, his parents smiling at him from one side of the room, Sirius standing with them. He had been dancing, with a pretty girl in a purple gown…

It was already nine o'clock. Succumbing to consciousness, Harry got out of bed and put on a set of dark blue robes. He would go see if Lupin or Hagrid needed help with anything, and perhaps go down the pitch and fly. As he walked towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry registered the fact that today was July the thirty-first, and that he was sixteen. He didn't feel particularly different, not any older or more grown up…

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin said jovially as he entered the classroom. "How are you?"

"Fine Professor."

"Harry, would you mind helping me with that list of students today? I am starting my plans for the N.E.W.T. classes, you see." Harry sat down at one of the desks and wrote down the names of all the sixth and seventh years students that had been in the D.A. last year and gave it to Lupin.

"This is quite a list. You must've had your hands full."

"Well, it wasn't too bad. I mean, I did have Hermione's and Ron's help. Actually, Professor, I was wondering if I could talk to you about starting the D.A. again—Have you asked Dumbledore about it?"

"Not yet," Lupin said, looking uncomfortable. "He did mention something the other day though, about not wanting to draw too much attention…" Reading the incredulous look in Harry's face, he added, "I know the Headmaster has never been quiet about certain things, but he does have a point about you, Harry. The last thing we want would be for you to make more of a target of yourself for openly continuing this resistance."

"How can I be _more_ of a target? I'm number one on Voldemort's list of people to kill! How could it possible get any worse? Unless, of course, I walked directly into a Death Eater meeting wearing a large red bull's eye painted on my chest—would that do? Shall I just do that then?"

"Harry, you've seen what the Ministry is capable of, and how the press can make you look. You know that the Prophet would make you into some sort of rebel against the ministry if they found out about the DA, and Fudge would come after you to discredit Albus. And parents would object-they are already denying that Voldemort has any kind of power. I know you don't want any of that, and even though I believe the idea is a good one, I don't think Albus will be able to allow the club."

Harry looked interestedly at his hands, and they passed a moment in silence. He had to admit that Lupin had a point, but he felt himself getting angry nonetheless. "But even if I don't have Dumbledore's permission, don't think I won't do it; at least, I won't stop teaching the first people that joined. Fudge is a fool, and the ministry is no better. The Order may not have a back up if their Golden Boy doesn't pull through, but I will." Harry got up and walked out, leaving Lupin staring after him.

The walk to the Great Hall seemed to take forever, as Harry brooded over the conversation with Professor Lupin. He couldn't believe Dumbledore—since when was he worried about with the Ministry would think? Hadn't Harry proved already that no matter what he did, Voldemort seemed to always come after him? Didn't anyone want him to be prepared? Or were they just hoping that some miracle would occur and, all on his own, Harry would defeat the Dark Lord and all his followers in one blow?

"He didn't even wish me 'Happy Birthday,'" Harry muttered angrily.

The Great Hall was full of teachers eating breakfast. The gentle murmur of voices spilled into the Entrance Hall. Harry stopped and looked in on the scene before going outside; both Dumbledore and Snape were sitting at the staff table, neither of whom he felt particularly like seeing at the moment. Once outside, he went down to the trees beside the lake and sat in the shade. The ground was warm, and the air felt good against Harry's warmed skin; he hadn't meant to become so angry, but he absolutely refused to allow anyone to control his life anymore. For fifteen years he had Dumbledore and Voldemort and the Dursleys deciding where he could go and what he was could do—he sighed and leaned against the trunk of the tree he sat under.

He wished he had his godfather with him then. Sirius would understand his frustration, would have reminded Dumbledore and Lupin and the rest that Harry could handle himself, that he didn't need them treating him like a child that couldn't make any decisions…they didn't understand him at all. Sure, they were all in danger, and they were all fighting, but they hadn't been an eleven year old boy forced to face the darkest wizard of all time with only a little magic and some luck; they hadn't been the ones to realize that his parents had been murdered by someone they thought was a friend; they weren't there when Cedric died, when Harry offered that they both take the cup; and they certainly hadn't felt what it was like, having Voldemort driving into your mind, trying to destroy you from the very depths of your being… He would be the only one there in the end, in the final fight, and the thought itself sobered him to the early adulthood he had grown into over the past five years. He had to be strong, he had to fight—to do nothing would be allowing Voldemort to win.

"If they want me to be responsible for all this, then I'm going to be ready for it," he said, to no one in particular. "_Accio Firebolt!_"

* * *

The lights of the castle glittered in the inky night, like a hundred fireflies clinging to the shadowed outline of its stone façade. Harry landed on the castle steps, and paused, taking a look back at the wild night. He had been gone all day, flying through the mountains that surrounded the school. A lot had been sorted through in his mind, and he was prepared now to face them all; he held a firm resolve, determined to harden against what was to come. He recalled the bracing wind that had carried him all day, partly longing to continue his flight, partly knowing he had to return to face his responsibilities. He would go to Dumbledore directly and discuss his plans with him. With a last look at the stars, he turned and entered the castle.

The Great Hall was completely empty, clear of any traces of dinner. Harry wondered what time it was as he headed to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet, the eerie silence that had shrouded the halls for the past three days ever more noticeable. But Harry forced himself to ignore it.

"Well, there you are!" Harry started at the sound, and turned. Hermione was racing toward him down the hall, and Harry felt himself smile, despite the scowl on her face.

"We've been looking all over for you!"

"Hermione, how did you get here?"

"Oh, never mind that, you have to come with me. They've been so worried about you—we've been waiting for hours for you to turn up. You really shouldn't just disappear like that, Harry, we thought the worst…"

"Who is 'we' and why have you been waiting?" They came to the portrait of the Fat Lady, which swung immediately open.

"He's back!" Dozens of pairs of eyes were fixed on Harry as he entered the room. It took a moment for him to take the scene in—there were streamers everywhere, balloons littered the floor, and the entire Weasley family, as well as Hagrid, Harry's teachers, Tonks, Moody, and other members of the Order were sitting in various places about the room. A large banner was pinned to the entrance to the dormitory staircases, reading "Happy Birthday!"

"What—?" They all seemed to come alive at once, moving towards him in a large rush, expressing sentiments of worry and grief.

"Where were you Harry? We thought you'd got hurt or worse," Mrs. Weasley said, pushing ahead of the rest and embracing him.

"What is all this?" Hermione moved forward, replacing Mrs. Weasley.

"Happy Birthday, Harry." A guilty pang hit his stomach, and he realized,

"This is all for me?"

"Of course it is, you stupid git." Ron was now next to Hermione, grinning down to the last freckle.

"Come now, Ron, we have to remember that these big name celebrities have to keep up their image by arriving fashionably late to _everything_," said one of the twins' voices from in the crowd. Everyone laughed, and the tension was broken; the adults began talking amongst themselves, and Harry sat down with Hermione, Ron, the twins and Ginny.

"Where were you Harry?" Hermione demanded immediately.

"I just went flying…If I'd known everyone was here waiting for me, I would have come back sooner." They all seemed to accept his apology and Fred began informing Harry of their breakthrough with the so-called Musical Marbles ("You still sing to the tune of a Spice Girls song, but the words are whatever you're trying to say.") After a few minutes, Mrs. Weasley came back to them, holding a large package tied with scarlet ribbon.

"From Arthur and myself," she said, smiling, handing the present to Harry. He felt himself go red, and he stared at the ribbon a moment. "Is there something wrong, dear?"

"No…I've just…well, I've never really—" Mrs. Weasley gave him a comforting look and kissed the top of his head. He opened the present slowly, much to everyone's displeasure.

"Hurry up Harry, you've loads more!" Ron said, "We'll be here all night at the rate you're going!" Smiling mischievously, Harry exaggerated his movements, continuing as slowly as possible.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Hermione said. "_Abritus!_" The wrapping fell in a neat pile on the floor. Ginny and the twins laughed while Hermione grinned evilly at Harry.

"All that trouble for a mirror," Ron said, disappointedly.

"That's not just a mirror Ron," Hermione said, looking impressed. "That's a Foe Glass." Harry examined the mirror and found she was right; it was just like the one Moody had had in his office, the same swirling gray fog…Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was talking animatedly with Professor Sprout. It took Harry a moment to catch her eye, but when he finally did, he waved, grinning and holding up the Foe Glass.

"What good is it, if just shows that smoky stuff?" Ron asked.

"It tells you if your enemies are near you or not," Harry replied; Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Moody…er, Crouch had one in his office when he was here," he explained.

"Oh! I almost forgot our presents!" Ginny said, getting up.

"Here's mine," Hermione said, handing him a large square gift, wrapped in green paper.

"Let me guess," Ron said sarcastically, "Did you get him…a book, by any chance?" Hermione shot him a dirty look in return and Harry tore off the paper. The cover showed a wizard turning into a giraffe and back—the title read, "A Guide to Animagi."

"Wow, Hermione, thanks!" Harry said, "This is the best!" Ginny returned with three gift bags, which she handed to Harry, who gave the book to Ron to look at. The first was from the twins, a patch for his bag that said, "Number One Seeker—With a Snitch, size doesn't matter," and a few Skiving Snackboxes.

"They have our newest products," George said.

"And some old favorites," Fred added.

"Thanks, guys." The second bag was from Ron, a miniature model of a Quidditch pitch with fourteen figures on brooms.

"It's for practices, you know," he said, "You just write out a play and tell it to the model and it demonstrates. Easier than drawing diagrams."

"Thanks Ron," Harry said, watching as the figures flew around the pitch, looping in and out of the goal hoops. "This is really great."

Ginny's gift was a quill that took dictation and a box of Every Flavor Beans. Food appeared on a table on the far end of the room, with a large cake sitting in the center. The whole company sang to Harry, who Mrs. Weasley had placed in front of the table, and they ate. There was a large pile of presents sitting near the fireplace, but Harry decided to wait until tomorrow to open everything. While everyone was eating, Harry managed to thank them all for coming, chatting with Tonks and Hagrid, who was standing with Bill and Charlie. As he made his way around the room, he realized that Lupin was missing. His mood darkened some—one of the things he had decided that afternoon was to apologize. If Lupin was avoiding him, he must have really been horrible…_I'll go see him after the party_, he decided.

"Having fun, Harry?" Albus Dumbledore had come up to him, a plate of half-eaten cake in his hand.

"Yes, Professor. This is really wonderful," he replied, looking around. "Professor?"

"Yes?" He lowered his voice and said,

"Can I speak with you about something? Tomorrow, maybe?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "But for now, enjoy yourself." He walked away, and Harry went back to Ron and Hermione. Ginny and the twins were now with Tonks on the other side of the room.

"What's it like in the castle?" Ron said.

"I imagine you're getting loads of work done," Hermione said with a wistful look on her face. "With all the teachers here to help you…"

"It's okay, I guess. It's too quiet, and the teachers are really weird over the summer. They're all so relaxed…did you know that Professor Vector sings? He's pretty good, come to think of it."

"You can't be serious!" Hermione giggled.

"I am," Harry said, beginning to laugh as well. "Dumbledore makes them provide entertainment for each other at dinner. I told you, it's really strange around here without the students." The three of them laughed as Ron tried to do an impression of Snape attempting stand up comedy. ("Why aren't you laughing? It's funny, I tell you! I'll poison the lot of you if you don't start laughing right now!")

Somewhere, a clock announced ten o'clock and the party started leaving. Ron and Hermione explained that they had ridden the Knight Bus there with the others, and would have to leave. Promising to write to him soon, they said goodbye, and Harry took a place at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower where he could tell all of the guests goodbye as they left. When he was alone, Harry took his opened gifts to his room. He was tired from the party, but, determined, he went back to the common room, and, grabbing a slice of cake, went off to find Lupin. At the door to Lupin's office, he stopped and knocked gently.

"Come in," said Lupin's voice, and Harry opened the door. The professor was sitting at his desk, pouring over some papers. He hadn't looked up yet, and Harry said,

"Professor, I brought you this."

"Oh, Harry," Lupin said in surprise, as he placed the plate on the desk. "Thank you."

"Professor, I wanted to apologize," Harry said quietly. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, and…I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Harry. I'm just sorry you're so frustrated."

"Why didn't you come?" Harry asked. "To the party upstairs?"

"I didn't think you'd want me there," Lupin replied, looking guilty. "I assumed you were still angry with me. I know I'm not Sirius, but I do care for you, Harry. You can talk to me, you know—about anything." Harry nodded and turned to leave.

"I know I can talk to you," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

"Thanks, Moony."


End file.
